Tommy
by colorsoftherainbow3006
Summary: Thomas is only twelve and is suddenly thrust into a world without memories, a world where fate seems intent on getting him killed. Rated for dark themes and character death. Rating may change. Extract (Ch19): His eyes were damp as he looked at Thomas. "All my friends, Tommy. They're going to die because I couldn't figure it out."
1. File 1: 1

**This is an AU- Thomas is twelve, and everyone else is around twenty. I've always wondered how a younger Thomas would interact with the gladers. I've changed quite a few more things in accordance with this idea, and this is how I think the story would have gone, had the age changes happened.**

**This will be the only disclaimer for the whole story: I do not own the triology 'Maze Runner.'**

**I hope you like it! :-)**

Chapter 1

It was dark. He sucked in a breath, panicked. Where was he? Questions piled upon questions. What was he doing there? Why? What was this place?

What was going to happen to him?

He took in a shaking breath, and stood. It was pitch black, but as he reached out, his fingertips collided with something.

Taking a step forward so he could place his palm down, he moved his hand along to the left, as far as it would go, and then to the right.

And to the right, it met a corner.

He took half a step to the left, and then repeated the action. He reached out, and his forefinger brushed it.

Another corner.

He was in a box, he realised. It must be- either that, or a very tiny room, but the wall felt cold beneath his fingers, metal-like. Rooms weren't made of metal.

Why was he in a box made of metal?

He sank to the floor in silence. he didn't know who he was, where he was- what he was doing there.

Then, it began to move.

The violent swing was so shocking that he let a high pitched shriek, a cry. In a voice still unbroken he started to yell. "Where am I? What do you want with me?"

His only answer was the rattling groan of acceleration.

What would happen when he reached the top?

"Help!" He screamed. "Where am I? Help!" His fingers wildly grasped the smooth metal below his. "Please! Just make it stop!"

And then, it stopped.

A blast of light blinded him a second, shocked him, and he scrambled backwards until his back jolted, banging into the cold wall. His eyes widened in wonder, and then fear, as he stared up at the sea of faces above him.

They looked down in confusion.

"It's a kid." Someone whispered. "Why did they send a kid?"

Every face was male, and perhaps within the age bracket of eighteen to twenty, although, the now proclaimed kid mused, he couldn't really tell.

So it was with fear that he looked up, and he backed away, under the ledge between the top of what must have been a lift, and the shaft in which it had travelled. A dull ache spread out from across his back, crippling almost, and he felt like crying-

Really though, he was just a child.

Someone lept from the edge, in the lift, bending over, with difficulty, so he could look the boy in the eye.

"Hey there." His voice was soothing. "Can you come out?"

The kid shook his head. "No." He whispered.

"Come on, Greenie." The boy, or perhaps man, in front of him still spoke calmly, as if he was used to this situation. His eyes however, seemed to flicker anxiously. "You can do it. Please."

The kid felt tears flood his eyes, curling up further into the alcove.

The guy in front of him reached out, grasping onto the sleeve of the boy. "You can do it." He murmured. "Come on."

The kid, now Greenie, for he didn't know his name, provided no resistance. He let himself be uncurled, and stood up. He froze at the obvious height difference, his eyes darting from person to person, but before he could back away again, someone grasped under his arms and tugged.

He let out a startled shriek, a scream, and kicked away, but the hands held on firm, lifting him out of the box, and onto solid ground. He clenched his eyes shut, as he heard the doors closing, creaking their way to a stop.

The guy holding him shook him slightly. "Open your eyes," he ordered. "Now."

Though the tone was harsh, it held a strange note of authority, and the boy had to comply. He looked up, and then around, and then at the man who'd just spoken.

Someone else walked around towards them- it was the guy from the lift. "Hey there kiddo." His voice was still gentle. Good cop, bad cop, the kid supposed.

"Do you know your name?" He asked. The boy shook his head. The guy frowned slightly, and then "Your age?"

The kid shook his head. He didn't know. He didn't know anything. "No." He answered clearly, and then. "Where am I?"

The guy turned around and glared at the various onlookers. "Don't you have things to be doing?" he snapped.

The crowd slowly dissipated, but the kid kept getting weird looks. He toed the ground quietly. "What is my name?" he said, quietly.

"We don't know." The older, scarier guy answered. "But you'll get it. It's the one thing they let us keep. Well, also your age, but even that doesn't always come."

"How old do you think am?"

The nicer guy laughed. "Well, aren't you just full of questions. I'm Newt, by the way, and that there is Alby. I know he's got the grump thing going for him at the moment, but he really ain't that terrifying."

Alby answered. "I'd say eleven, maybe ten, but like we said you might know, you might not."

"But what is this place?" The boy was determined to get answers. His voice shook, and he took a sudden, quick breath.

"This?" Newt spread his arm out. "This is the glade, and- hey, hey. Listen, it's alright, yeah? You'll get used to this place eventually, and-"

"But I don't understand." The child kicked at the ground angrily. "Why am I here? Why is anyone here?"

"We've no shucking clue!" Alby snapped, irritated. "Don't become all whiny on us, please." He shook his head, and murmured something to Newt, who just nodded once in agreement.

The young boy just scrubbed his eyes hard, before...

Thomas.

The kid blinked and then again-

Thomas.

"I-I-" He gasped, sucking in a quick breath.

"What?" Newt said, clearly puzzled.

"I remember, my name I mean." The kid smiled, feeling and overwhelming sense of relief, because _he knew who he was._

"What is it?" Newt asked, eagerly. He seemed to want to know as much as the kid had, which was...nice.

"Thomas."

"Nice to meet you Thomas." Newt grinned, holding out his hand.

Thomas smiled, shaking it. "You too." His terror was finally, slowly subsiding, slightly.

Newt laughed, amused. "Do you know how old you are?"

Thomas wrinkled his nose, and then, "Twelve, I think- but how can I remember that, and not anything else?"

Alby nudged him slightly, his previous bad mood forgotten. "We don't know any more than you do, Greenie."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"What?"

"Greenie." Thomas' eyes were wide. "You keep calling me Greenie."

Alby shrugged. "Jus' what we do." He murmured. "Nothing really to it."

"Hey!"

The three turned at the yell. Two guys were yelling at each other, becoming more and more insistent.

Alby looked torn, and Newt shoved him away from him. "Go." He grinned. "I've got this."

The older-though only by a year it seemed- man nodded, and walked purposefully towards the shouting.

Newt turned to Thomas. "You ought really to not ask so many questions- I mean a few, but it'll annoy some people. You should limit them, you'll learn as you go along."

Thomas nodded, and then became somber as he stared at the tall walls surrounding them. "What are they?" He pointed a shaking finger.

Newt put a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "That's the maze." He answered softly. "It's what keeps us here, we haven't solved it yet, and- whoa." He dragged Thomas the step he taken forwards, back. "Listen." He spun the boy around so they were looking each other in the eye. "There are two major rules here, understand? The first rule is to never harm another glader, and the other is to never go into the maze."

"Why?" Thomas asked. "It's just a maze." He didn't really get it.

"No." Newt's face was growing increasingly serious, "No kid. Never go in there, ever, get it? Those rules, they're made for our protection, your protection. Never go in there." He looked at Thomas's face, searching for something.

"I won't." Thomas said softly. "I won't, I promise."

"Good that." Newt grinned, ruffling his hair. "Okay Greenie, go and ask for Chuck, he'll help you. Tell him your supposed to be roomies with him, okay? Just ask around a bit."

Thomas nodded, he was a bit nervous of the guys at the glade. They were all older than him, and to be honest, it kind of scared him.

Newt shoved him a little. "Go ahead. Nobody bites- well except maybe Gally. Just try to stay away from him, alright?"

"Alright."

"Good that."

A scream suddenly echoed round the site. Thomas jumped about three feet in the air, frozen with fear. It left him panic-stricken. The tortured voice was wailing, and sent shivers of terror down his spine.

Newt leapt into action, sprinting away in the direction of a tall wooden hut. "Find Chuck!" he yelled. "And quickly!"

Thomas stood there, frozen, confused. What on earth was he supposed to do?


	2. File 1: 2

Chapter 2

"Hey, are you Thomas?"

Thomas jumped, and spun on his feet. "Yes." He said. "Who're you?"

He was talking to a short, slightly chubby teenager, who was maybe half a foot taller than Thomas himself. "I'm Chuck." He said. "Newt sent me. We're rooming together- you know that?"

Thomas nodded, suddenly feeling shy. "Where does everyone sleep?" He took in the older boy's appearance some more. He had a round face, and he was smiling, and was maybe fifteen, or sixteen, which made Thomas the youngest there.

"It's just over there." The teen pointed towards a large collection of wooden houses, which was strange. Sure, maybe some twenty year old's could build a house, but Thomas doubted many could.

"Were they there before?" He blurted out.

"Huh?" Chuck was clearly taken aback, but then he calmed, as if remembering the abruptness with which children could speak. "You mean the huts?"

Thomas nodded, now barely concentrating. He started sprinting towards them, reaching them in about twenty seconds.

"Hey!" Chuck was catching up. "Don't run off!" He put his hands on his knees, panting. "You're fast." He commented, breathlessly.

Thomas nodded absentmindedly, staring intently at the metal bolts. They were a perfect fit, no splintering pieces of wood, no slightly crooked panels. "They must have been."

Chuck shrugged. "Whatever- never really thought about it."

Thomas nodded, and then- "Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"You know all that yelling earlier?" Thomas couldn't think of another way to describe it. "Who- I mean- what was happening? It was horrible."

The teen winced. "Ben got stung." He murmured. "That's what happens, kiddo, when you go through the changing."

"Stung? By what?" Thomas frowned as he thought of the piercing wailing. "It must've been something pretty bad."

"Grievers." Chuck wasn't smiling now, his freckled face serious. "They're- well I can't really describe them- but their bad. If you get stung? Its pretty much the end of you unless you get the serum. If you get out of it alive, well.. you're never the same again."

Then it started again, and the twelve year old couldn't help but clap his hands over his ears.

Chuck grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the screaming. Thomas was taken slightly aback at the sudden mood swing- the boy looked set, determined. Maybe even angry.

"What are you doing?" He yelped. "I don't want to hear it!"

"I want to, so shush." Chuck hushed him. "And I'm supposed to be looking after you so you'd better come with me."

"Why do you want to know-"

"Be quiet!" Chuck hissed. "Don't speak. We're not supposed to see them, but I haven't ever, and I want to."

Thomas flinched. He sounded almost...unhinged. It was frightening.

They got closer to where a crowd of guys were congregating outside the entrance of a large wooden hut- the largest, in fact.

"Hey Chuckie, where're ya takin' the newbie?" A tall, nasal voiced guy walked up to them. He was hard-looking, and angry, glaring at the two kids.

"Shove off, Gally." Chuck said. "We were just going to see Newt."

"Ain't nobody allowed up there!" Called another voice. "You get back here ya shank!"

Chuck tugged Thomas, pulling him past everyone. Thomas protested wildly. "Let me go!" He shrieked. "Chuck! Let me go!"

There were mutters from the crowd, and then-

"Listen to him Chuckie!" Called the guy he now knew as Gally. "I need a look at the shank, anyway, I ain't seen him yet!"

"There ain't nothing to be seen." Chuck snapped angrily, snarling, even. "Leave us alone. He's just a kid."

But Gally had caught hold of Thomas' other arm, and yanked hard, causing Chuck to let go from surprise, and Thomas to fall- or he would have, at least, had the elder not kept a tight grip.

"I've seen you before." He said, his voice low- it could even be described as sift, though Thomas was sure that wasn't the intention. "Where from, though? 'Cause it wasn't here."

"Oh, I don't know." Chuck said sarcastically. "Maybe because he came up the lift, same as the rest of us."

"No, no." Gally said. He pointed to where the screaming was coming. "Ya hear that, shank? That's the changing."

Thomas tried to squirm away. This was different. This was scary.

"Wait, I'm not finished. You know, I went through that, and when you do, you know whatcha see?" he didn't pause for Thomas to answer. "Your past, kid. Or parts- bits and pieces. It's faded now, but I recognise you." he sucked in a breath. "And I bet you anything Ben will too."

Thomas struggled against the increasingly tight hold. "Let me go!" He cried. Tears came into his eyes.

"Gally." Another glader who could have been maybe eighteen or nineteen spoke. "He's just a kid, let him go."

The young man released him, and opened his mouth to say something else, but Thomas fled. He ran towards the hut- the door was wide open.

He just had to get away- had to be safe.

He had no memories, no understanding of what had happened, an aching, hurting body- he was terrified.

Newt and Alby were here- and they'd helped him.

He sprinted up the stairs, coming to a wooden door. He wasn't crying so much anymore. In fact, when he thought about it, he hadn't really cried at all. He pushed at it though, and the sight he saw when the door opened made his blood run cold.

A guy was lying on the bed, shrieking in pain. His veins were taut against his skin, and were a shocking green colour, almost glowing, as if someone had injected them full of neon. Other than that he was pale, like a ghost. His eyes were turning and weaving wildly around the room, and his mouth lay open, saliva trickling out of it.

Thomas sucked in a gasp.

"Tommy!"

Thomas looked weakly towards Newt, who glanced at Alby once, and then darted towards the twelve year old, shutting the door hurriedly.

"You're not supposed to see that." He said, sharply. His eyes roved over Thomas' face, which had drained of colour. "You've been crying? It that why you came up here?"

Thomas shook his head. "I was scared." He said softly. "I just ran."

"Ran? Ran from what?" Newt looked suddenly anxious. "Did anyone else run?"

"Gally grabbed me." Thomas muttered. "Started yelling at me, I just- I just panicked."

"Did he hurt you?" Newt quizzed him, his brow furrowed.

Thomas thought about the bruises he was probably going to have, and the ache where the man had caught his arm- but then, everything was hurting anyway. He really just felt sick. "No." He said. "Sorry, I shouldn't have come."

"You shouldn't." Newt agreed. "But that can't be helped. I'll come on out with you." It was a relief, really. The guy made him feel safer, less afraid. "I heard you yelling. I should have come anyway." He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "Come on." He led the way down the staircase.

Thomas stopped, suddenly. "Why'd you call me Tommy?" He asked.

Newt frowned. "I don't know, I guess you suit it?" He didn't seem to think too much on it.

When they got to the bottom, Newt pushed the door open, and stalked right up to Gally. "What were you thinking?" His voice was cold. "That's a child, you know. He's twelve."

Thomas crept out to stand slightly behind Chuck.

The dark haired man just growled, his black eyes smoldering. "Who shucking cares how old he is?"

Newt shook his head. "I don't quite know what you expect him to do. He's a child, Gally." The blonde was calm, methodical, yet his eyes still radiated the same, cold fire.

"Listen." Gally lowered his voice, but Thomas heard every word. "I've seen him before. there's something not quite right about this, you know. I've been though the changing, Newt, and I've seen him."

Newt shook his head. "Maybe you knew him before you came here, but he's still a kid."

"Yes, you've made that quite clear." Gally shook his head angrily. "Maybe you'll believe me- when he slips up." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't you think he's remarkably resilient for a twelve year old?" He walked off.

Newt ran a hand through his hair. " You'll be okay, right?" He asked Thomas. "I need to go help Alby."

Thomas nodded, and Chuck put an arm around him. "I got him." He grinned.

Newt gave them one last look, and then turned back into the house.

"Come on." Chuck tugged at him. "I bet you want something to eat, huh?"

Thomas let himself be pulled along, the screams of the man he'd seen echoing in his ears.


	3. File 1: 3

Chapter 3

"Chuck?" Thomas stood beside his companion, staring up at the dark stones surrounding them. "What's out there?"

"You mean the maze." Chuck was sitting on the ground. He fiddled with a blade of grass, tugging upwards until it gave way. He was silent for a moment, as Thomas nodded, and then. "Nothing."

"How so?"

Chuck gave him an odd look. "You talk so strangely" he muttered. "There really isn't anything out there, besides the runners, I mean."

"What are the runners?" Thomas asked softly. He knew everyone was getting irritated with his constant questions- especially Chuck- but he just had to know.

"You mean who." Chuck gave him a half-smile. "They're the very best of us. The fastest, the smartest. They're the ones who run the maze, searching. You have to be really good, to be one of those."

"Oh." Thomas said, and then. "What are they searching for?"

Chuck stared at him sadly. "A way out." His eyes raked the floor, before he stood up.

Thomas followed him. "They haven't found one yet, have they," He stated. Why else would they still be there?

"No, kid." Chuck muttered. "They haven't." He started walking away, and Thomas stood there, unsure of what to do. his feet shifted uneasily, scuffing against the ground. He rotated again- back to staring at the grey brick.

He was bored- nothing else to it.

Newt had said not to go into the maze- but that didn't mean he couldn't look in. He ran forward, reaching the entrance, glancing around twice behind him, before leaning his head forwards, peering into the apparent blackness.

You'd have to have good eyesight, Thomas supposed, to be a runner. He knew that there must be other jobs, to keep thing running here, but he loved the sound of being a runner. It sounded thrilling- fun. You'd be on your feet all day, and you'd get to run.

He liked running.

No- he loved it. the adrenaline, the rush, he loved running.

He'd be too young to be a runner- Newt would never allow it, never…..

The passage wasn't completely dark. There was a little light to see, coming from the top of the maze, which, once your eye got used to it, filled the stone paths with an eery bleakness, an unpleasant mid-grey that seemed to seep from the opening in the walls.

He leaned in a little closer, just to see in further, when he heard a yell.

"Hey, stop!"

He jumped in alarm, hopping backwards a step, and glancing around violently, before stopping in surprise, because the cry had come from inside the maze.

This must be one of the runners.

The guy sprinted out from the opening, coming to a halt just a metre before the twelve year. "Get away from there." He gasped, dragging the young boy nearer the safety of the glade huts.

As the guy caught his breath, Thomas took in his messy black hair, and large stature. Even bending over, he was taller than him. Thomas decided then and there not to mess with him.

The guy stood up, having recovered, and grabbed onto Thomas' shoulder firmly- though gently- and shook him slightly. "What was that, huh?" He demanded. "Are you the newbie?"

Thomas nodded. "I just came today." He mumbled, swerving his eyes to the floor.

The guy stepped back, as if taking the young boy in. "Damn it." He muttered. "How old are you?"

Thomas looked up. "Twelve." He answered.

"Okay." The guy nodded, his face softening, though his underlying expression was one of surprise. "Okay, well I'm Minho."

"Thomas."

Minho nodded again. "We should go see Alby." He said. "I've got something to tell him anyway. Has he explained the rules?"

"Yes." Thomas answered nodding. "But it was Newt." At Minho's raised eyebrow, he hurried to explain. "I wasn't going in- just looking."

Minho didn't really look convinced. "Okay then." He said. "But you mustn't go near the maze kiddo, ever."  
"Why?" Thomas asked.

"It's dangerous."

"But why?" Thomas persisted. "What's so dangerous about it?"

Minho looked at him in surprise. "Ain't anyone told you about the grievers?"

Thomas answered by shaking his head. "Chuck mentioned them, but- what are they?"

"Huh." Minho muttered. "Well no wonder you went and looked."

"What are-"

Minho bit his lip. "I don't know if I should tell you. Ask Newt when we see him. You just gotta stay away, though, understand?"

A sudden grating noise tore through the glade, and Thomas cried out, slamming his hands to his ears in surprise.

Minho grabbed his wrists, pulling them down. "It's okay." He spoke loudly, to be heard. "It's okay, kid. S'just the doors. They close, you see."

He evidently found Thomas' sudden shock amusing.

The twelve year old sent him a dirty look. "It's not funny." he muttered, as the shuddering came to an end. "What happened? Why do they do that? How are they doors?"

Minho shrugged. "They do that- every night." His expression darkened. "It's a blessing, trust me."

"What do you mean?"

"They don't just keep us in here you know." The older glader scowled. "They keep other things out."

This struck the boy as rather ominous, and he looked at Minho to elaborate. He didn't though, and Thomas accepted it with a shrug. This, he guessed, was something he'd have to find out some other way.

Minho started towards the huts then, leaving the younger stumbling along behind him. He looked back every once in a while, though, as if to make sure the kid was still with him.

"Minho!"

The yell came from the house. Both Thomas and Minho looked up to see Alby running towards them.

"What are you doing with him?" Alby asked, as he came closer, directing it towards the elder. "Did he do something?"

Minho raised his eyebrows, giving a sidelong glance to the sheepish twelve year old. Then he grinned. "No, course not. I just came back, he was asking me questions. He doesn't have a job to do yet, does he?"

"No." Alby shook his head. "But he's too small really to do a lot of heavy work. Newt was going to go round and find out what he's best at."

"Do you think he's destined for slopper?" Minho asked. He didn't really look too impressed with the suggestion.

Thomas didn't know what a slopper was, but he wrinkled his nose. He didn't like the sound of it. The very word made him feel a little ill.

To his relief Alby shook his head. "Too little to do that too. Couldn't really ask a little kid to clean toilets."

Thomas opened his mouth to protest against being a little kid, but then snapped it shut quickly. If it stopped him from cleaning toilets, then maybe being young wasn't so bad.

Alby carried on. "We were thinking about maybe Zart looking after him or something, I mean, it ain't hard, you know. Just plants and stuff."

Thomas felt his concentration drifting. He scanned the area, before looking back towards the walls. Though the glade was big, Thomas just knew that in comparison to the outside the place was tiny. It was weird, how the memory thing worked. He knew about everything- from mountains to lakes, seas, even, and yet he couldn't even remember where he lived before all this.

His mum and dad.

He wished he knew who they were- he missed them, somehow, though there were no memories.

He felt his feet take off, and he started walking, quietly, away from everything- Minho and Alby didn't notice, they were too deep in conversation, and he just walked.

There was a small wood. Thomas had noticed it earlier, but hadn't really paid attention. Now, however, he walked straight there. It was getting dark, and stars were startlingly bright. There wasn't a cloud in sight. He found that strange.

But everything was strange. How could there be flora and fauna in a place so closed off from the rest of the world? It was yet another mystery to be solved.

Thomas found himself stumbling through nearly pitch black. The thick canopy overhead wasn't helping matters much, and the ground was covered with loose twigs, and brambles that tore at the boy's legs. He knew they must be bleeding.

He picked up speed. He was running now, racing across the uneven mud. He swallowed, sucking in gasps of air, stopping suddenly, and twisting, so he was almost certain he was facing the way he came.

Almost, but not completely.

He was lost.

Tired, aching, _lost._

Thomas shook his head, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat that had become stuck there. Swiping at his eyes, he made a noise of frustration that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Newt?" He whispered to the black air. "Alby? Minho?" Tears started tracking down his cheeks.

It was just the first day, and he'd started to cry like a baby. Again.

He gasped, hugging his arms around his chest. He was lost. He was completely and utterly lost.

He was terrified.

"I want my mum." He said. It made him feel better to say it out loud, even if it made him cry more. It made feel as if maybe he did have a mum, waiting for him.

He'd have to think- he'd lost all sense of orientation the moment he'd blinked, but the walls went all the way around the glade. If there was a way out this way, someone would have found it. So all there could be was wall.

And if he followed the wall, eventually he'd get to the glade.

He brought out his hands, so they were reaching, much like in the lift. Every breath he took was shuddering. Salty droplets coursed down his face, turning it dark red, though of course he wasn't to know.

He moved forward, a step at a time, sometimes falling over. Every time though, he got back up. He couldn't stay lost forever, he reminded himself. Even if he stayed stumbling around for days, statistically, in a place that small, he have to stumble across the glade sooner or later.

He just hoped it would be sooner.

He walked for a while- he wasn't sure how long, but he knew it was maybe an hour. They must be worried, he hoped so anyway. Worried meant they'd come look for him. He'd stopped crying, but he'd about given up. He was utterly lost. He'd no way of getting back- maybe he'd just ride the night out, he only had to wait to morning (though it couldn't have been later than ten).

It wasn't fair. He hated the place. Of all the children they could've sent, they had to send him up that lift shaft, whoever they were.

"Tommy!"

He froze. Was that-

"Thomas! Hey, where are you?"

"Newt?" He called. He recognised the funny accent. It was weird. He was getting out, and suddenly he felt like crying again. Whether it was from traumatisation or relief, he wasn't quite sure.

"Hey!" He heard footsteps, and then someone grabbed his arm. He shrieked in terror, before someone flicked a light in his face. He stared up at Minho, whose face seemed to be permanently set in a look of concern. "Bloody hell kiddo." The older glader whispered, setting the torch down and gripping the boy's two shoulders. Their faces were barely illuminated.

"What were you doing, huh?" Minho asked through gritted teeth. "Did you run away?"

Thomas shook his head. "No." He muttered. "I was just," he paused, what was he doing? "I was exploring." He decided. "I didn't mean to get lost." He pleaded, starting to cry again. "I didn't mean to."

"Tommy?" Newt and Alby appeared from a few metres away. Minho had evidently run. The eldest scowled, but seeing the twelve year old's tear stained face, turned his expression more neutral.

"What the hell were you doing?" He hissed, fury barely constrained from his voice. "This place is dangerous. You've been gone three hours, we convinced ourselves you'd been killed." He shook his head. "We were worried." He muttered, turning to walk away. "I'll pre-warn Jeff."

Newt bit his lip, before pulling Thomas into a half hug, yanking him from Minho's grasp. "What were you thinking kiddo? You just walked off. You can't just walk off." He bent so he could look Thomas in the eye. "You get that, right?"

Thomas nodded, feeling chastised. These young men were the only source of authority he had, and yet they themselves were only just adults. "Yeah." He said softly.

"He was_ exploring_." Minho's tone swam with frustration.

Newt just shook his head. "Later." He said, grabbing onto one of Thomas' arms. "Come on. It really isn't safe out here."

Thomas was tired. His legs were aching, and he knew they were covered with thorns. He was still crying, taking shaking, shuddering breaths.

He knew that Minho and Newt were worried. Between them they were practically carrying him back. Both had vice-like grips on his arms, as if they were afraid he'd collapse at any moment.

He was stumbling, nearly falling at every bump, and he was honestly going to start bawling if they didn't get out of there soon. His legs were burning, he knew they were bleeding. He felt his knees buckle, and then give way, leaving him crashing to the floor.

Suddenly he felt himself being scooped up off the ground. He looked up into Newt's worried face. The twenty year old looked down at him. "It'll be fine." He muttered. "We're nearly there." His voice was strained, angry even.

"Are you mad at me?" He whispered.

"No." Newt shook his head. "Not you, kiddo. It's just…" He trailed off. "This isn't any place for a kid. They shouldn't have sent you."

"Amen to that." Minho muttered from beside them as they neared the lights of the huts. "You're a magnet for trouble."

"Alby's mad at me."

"He's not." Newt paused. "He told you, he was worried. We all were, but Alby- you terrified him. He's always been the leader, and we've had deaths, but I don't think he'd ever imagined one for a kid."

"There's been deaths?" Thomas asked softly. "What killed them?"

Minho jumped in. "Newt, no-one's told him about the grievers. Not properly anyway- they're dangerous."

"Not now." Newt murmured. "Later, not now. Maybe tomorrow."

Thomas shut his mouth. He had to stop asking questions, he asked too many.

The glade came into view, and Minho yelled. "Hey! Med-jacks!"

A couple of guys ran over. "What happened to him?" The eldest asked.

"It's just his legs." Newt was saying. "They're bleeding, and he collapsed. But he's probably just tired." As he was saying this, he passed the young boy over to the guy, who said his name was Jeff. Thomas felt like a small child- it was humiliating.

They sat him down on a soft mattress, and brought over a sort of basin filled with something that had a weird sheen on it. Thomas followed the motions they made, taking a cloth and soaking it. They brought it close to his legs, the stinging making him sniffle a bit.

The younger one- he said his name was Alex sat next to him, squeezing his shoulders, and saying how it was all okay. Thomas decided then and there that he liked Alex. He was nice.

Jeff wrapped the last bandage around his shin and then stood up. "It should be better tomorrow." He said, and he pulled the twelve year old to his feet. Thomas would have fallen back over had Alex not been supporting him from behind. "You really look tired though." He said. "Exhaustion, probably. You're rooming with Chuck, right?" At Thomas' nod he sighed. "Maybe we should switch you out, with someone older. Just for tonight. Chuck doesn't always take things so…. seriously."

That was one way of looking at it.

"He could sleep in Ben's bed." Alex interjected, before he looked down. Glancing up again, he saw Jeff staring at him in concern. "It would be safer, at least for tonight. I'd be in the room. You know I room with Ben, and….yeah." He finished, though he looked reluctant. Thomas frowned slightly, hadn't Chuck said Ben was the guy who was stung?

"Maybe." Jeff said cautiously. "But Alex, you're not much older than Chuck."

"I'm a med-jack, remember? I'm sixteen, I'm not exactly irresponsible."

Jeff nodded. "Fine. Okay then. But if anything happens…."

"I know, Jeff."

"He's only twelve."

_"I know."_

* * *

**I'll be going on holiday for a week so I won't be able to update during that time. Thankyou for taking the time to read my story though and thankyou to everyone who reviewed. :-)**


	4. File 1: 4

Chapter 4

"Alex?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you want me here?" Thomas asked.

Alex sat up. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you say I could come here? I know Ben is the one who's stung." He didn't mean to sound so abrupt.

In the dim light he could see Alex flinch slightly, but the boy answered anyway. "I just don't think it's fair."

"What's not fair."

"You, me- this place. You know I'm only sixteen."

Thomas shook his head. "I thought- I mean, I know Jeff said that, but earlier I assumed that it was just me and Chuck who were the only kids."

Alex laughed forlornly. "I wanted to get to know you, as cheesy as that sounds. The three of us are the only kids here. Everyone else is older than eighteen." He shrugged. "I just don't think it is fair. This place- the stuff was originally here, you know, everything, at least, that's what Alby and Gally say. They were the first two here, there was someone else too, but he died.. anyway, it's designed for adults. I just never saw why they had to toss a couple of kids in. I know Newt hates it, and Jeff."

"And Minho." Thomas interjected.

"Yeah." Alex nodded. "No-one else really thought about it till you came though. Me and Chuck, I'm sixteen, he's fifteen.. You're still a child, really."

Thomas frowned. "You are too."  
Alex shook his head. "I think sixteen is in between." He said decidedly. "I don't feel like a kid, not really." He peered at Thomas. "I don't feel like an adult, either."

Thomas nodded, and then yawned.

"We should get some sleep." Alex said. "They still need to decide what you should do- what job. I'm a med-jack- I like helping people."

"I like helping people too." Thomas said.

"Maybe." Alex said, "But you like exploring, don't you? Minho said that was the entire reason you got lost. I reckon you'd get bored doing this."

Thomas shook his head adamantly. "I reckon I wouldn't." He said.

Alex shrugged. "Maybe you wouldn't." He lay back down. "But you like adventure. I can tell."

"Goodnight." Thomas whispered.

"Night then." Alex muttered, turning on his side.

The blackness seemed to engulf him.

* * *

"Rise and shine!"

Thomas opened his eyes to see Alex's face peering down at him. He then shut them.

"He won't wake up."

"Hey, kiddo." The blanket was dragged from his shoulders. "Up you get."

"What? Newt?" Thomas blinked sleepily.

"Get up. We still need to find out what you're best at."

Thomas, suddenly alert, swung himself out of bed. "Where do I have to go?" He excited for this- he really was. It was interesting, new.

Newt grinned at him. "Get dressed first. I'll come back in about five minutes, so be quick. We're going to see how you do in the garden first, you know, growing food and stuff."

Thomas nodded, inwardly disappointed. "Okay."

Newt shook his head, before ducking out of the room.

Alex winced. "I pity you there, kid. Most boring day of my life."

"That you can remember." Thomas said softly, reminding himself suddenly what had just happened the day before.

The elder boy just smiled lightly, before ducking out of the room.

Thomas jugged off his pyjama top, and was about to pull on a sweatshirt, when something caught his eye.

He raised his arm so he could see it more clearly in the light. Shock filled his eyes, as he gazed at his limb, suddenly feeling, once again, the same dull throbbing echo through his body.

It was badly bruised, and Thomas might have put that down to yesterday's excursion- he had fallen a lot, after all- but the mottled skin wasn't blue. It was yellowing slightly- the colour of bruises a few days old. He'd been too tired to notice anything the night before, but he could see them now, clear as day.

He realised with a shiver, that he must have had them when he came.

It was sickening, scary.

He glanced at his other arm, and then his chest, feeling a little sick. The same result. Had he been attacked? What had happened to his before he was put in that lift shaft?

He legs. He pulled up the trousers to reveal his calves, pricked and scratched, and bruised. Though his legs had both old and new bruises mingling on them.

Thomas swallowed. Suddenly he felt very frightened. He supposed Jeff and Alex just hadn't noticed in the dark the old ones. What had his life been like before the glade? Suppose someone had hurt him?

"Thomas, you done?" Alex called from the other

"Nearly." He quickly changed, and when Alex came out from the shower room he was fully dressed too.

He could feel the older boy's gaze on him. He turned around, looking at him questioningly, counting to ten in his head to stop the shaking.

Alex just shook his head. "I was bawling right about now." He muttered. "You're incredibly brave, you know that?"

Thomas blinked. He hadn't expected that, but then- "Is there something wrong with me?"

"No." Alex grinned. "You're just brave. It's awesome."

Thomas nodded, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"Tommy!"

The two boys jumped.

Newt knocked on the door. "You done?" He called.

Thomas tugged on the handle. He frowned as he realised he actually wasn't strong enough to open the door. Alex walked up behind him, and shoved, the extra force making it swing open with ease.

Alex looked up at Newt. "I reckon that rules out any heavy lifting."

Newt just nodded, "Jeff's looking for you. Want's you to hurry up." He managed a grin, though it was pretty feeble. "Ben's been thrashing about, and, well…"

The sixteen year old's face drained of colour, "Okay." He managed softly, before he was sprinting away in the direction of the main house.

Newt looked down at the boy in front of him. "Come on." He murmured. "I need to introduce you to Zart."

He started walking, and Thomas followed, asking, "Is Alex okay?" He was pretty concerned for the boy. Chuck and Alex were the only other kids at the Glade, and while they were both quite a bit older than him, he felt a certain kinship with them.

Newt glanced sideways at the boy, scrutinising him, as if he was wondering whether or not he should tell him something. "I worry about him." He spoke in low tones. "The kid takes things hard. Ben was his roommate, you know."

Thomas nodded, "Alex told me." He said. "Ben, is he- is he going to-" he couldn't finish his sentence. Somehow, though he didn't know the guy, it was heart-wrenching to think about his death. They were all trapped there- if anyone was killed, it would be felt.

Newt shook his head. "Not if we can help it. He got the serum, he should be fine." Something about the way he said that was off, as if maybe it wouldn't be all right.

"Newt?"

"Hmm?"

"What's a Griever? They did something to Ben, didn't they."

Newt stopped suddenly. "I keep forgetting." He muttered to himself. "You really need to know." He caught hold of the young boy's shoulder. "You've seen the walls close?" he asked, pointing to the now open arches.

Thomas nodded mutely.

"The walls don't just keep us in here, they keep other things out." Newt shook his head. "Grievers, is what they're called- they sting you, you go through the changing, and well… you saw Ben."

Thomas nodded. The man then tugged at the kid's sleeve. "Come on." He smiled, a little more light-hearted now. "We still need to find you something to do, around here."

* * *

**I know this chapter isn't as good, but I just need to clear a few things up. Like the bruises on Thomas, and I promise it's relevant. he also needed to know what a griever was, and I hadn't managed to fit it in.**

**Teresa still hasn't shown up, but she will:-D**


	5. File 1: 5

Chapter 5

Zart was nice. He didn't talk a lot, but he helped Thomas when something was too hard, and he didn't seem to mind if the twelve year old did something wrong.

The thing that bothered the boy, was the boredom. He didn't think that he could garden all day, everyday. He preferred to be active.

Maybe Alex was right.

Thomas tugged at one of the weeds that had sprouted in the cabbage patch, scowling as it wouldn't give. He hated this, and he couldn't help but wish that he was older, capable of more things.

Newt had taken him to the slaughter house, but at the first sight of blood, he'd gone green. The older glader had dragged him out, thankfully without a word. They'd gone to the kitchen, but Thomas had nearly burnt himself on the flames, and Frypan had practically shoved him out, proclaiming that he didn't want any casualties.

Children weren't supposed to play with stoves, apparently.

And so he'd ended up here. Newt had decided that he'd have to be in the garden. 'At least you're not a slopper.' He'd muttered, when Thomas had expressed his concerns.

"Thomas!"

The twelve year old jumped, and he turned to see Chuck running towards him. "Thomas, where were you last night?"

Thomas looked up at the boy, he could see a faint expression of concern. "I got lost." he explained. "I had to sleep in the same room as Alex, you know, 'cause he's a med-jack."

"Oh." Chuck deflated slightly, though Thomas couldn't for the life of him figure out why. "Okay. Just checking. I need to get back to work." He turned around, and for a moment the younger saw an expression of pain on the older glader's face.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

Thomas looked up at the kid. "Are you okay?"

An unreadable expression appeared on the teenager's face. "Yeah." He smiled easily. "Why wouldn't I be?" He started walking, then, towards the slaughter house, perhaps to clean something up- that was his job, after all.

Thomas turned back to the weed, feeling uneasy. He dug his fists into the soft, brown earth, trying to calm the wave of anxiety that washed over him.

A sudden noise screeched through the glade, making the young boy jump in alarm. Somebody grabbed his arm, then, pulling him swiftly to his feet. Zart glanced down at him, his face creased in worry.

"What's the noise?" He asked.

The older glader looked down at the child. "The lift." he said. Though his tone was calm, Thomas could hear the concealed shock. "And it never comes two days in a row."

They could hear others running towards the shaft, the others working in the garden were already gone, but Thomas didn't think he wanted to see the cold, dark metal box again. He shivered.

"You don't have to come and see." Zart said, lowly. "I couldn't stand being near that thing for three months.

Thomas shook his head. "I'll come."

They sprinted towards the sound of voices, all shouting at once. They ran to the back of the crowd, and Thomas squirmed his way through. Being little helped, he supposed.

"Tommy." Newt caught hold of his shoulder, as Alby yelled at everyone to be quiet. "Tommy, look at this."

Thomas peered hesitantly into the lift. He really did hate that thing, but curiosity won out. He blinked in surprise. A child, like him.

A girl.

Maybe child was pushing it though, she was perhaps fourteen, even fifteen, with long dark hair. He couldn't tell the colour of her eyes, they were closed. He realised with mounting horror that he couldn't see her breathing.

She looked like death.

Before anyone could stop him- not that they would anyway, Thomas jumped in, landing sprawled beside the girl. He put his hand above her mouth, and closed his eyes a moment in relief as he felt warm air hit his hand.

"She's alive." He spoke. The noise of the gladers had died down- they were all waiting for the outcome. A collective exhale echoed through the group, as if they'd all held their breath at the same time.

Someone jumped down next to him- it was Alby. "Greenie?" He asked, his voice unusually gentle. "You know her?"

Thomas frowned a moment, jumping to his feet. He did, or at least, it was faint. Somehow, he knew the girl. There was no point telling Alby, though- he couldn't identify her, tell them who she was, why she'd been brought there.

It was kinship, he decided, some sort of recognition, like they were family.

"No."

Alby raised his eyebrows, "You're really gonna tell me that? You must know her."

Thomas shook his head, "if I ever did, if I do, I don't remember." He looked up, past Alby's disbelieving face, and up at Newt, whose brow was furrowed.

"I really don't!" He exclaimed. The other gladers just looked puzzled. His breathing quickened. What was going on? Why were they all looking at him like that?

Alby bit his lip, looking irritated. "It doesn't make sense." he scowled. "You," He pointed at Thomas, "You came here just yesterday, a little kid. We've never had a kid show up here before- no-one younger than fifteen, anyway. She," He moved the accusing finger towards the girl on the floor. "Came up the lift one day after you, and she's the first girl." He ran his hand through his hair feverishly. "They have to be related."

Thomas, uncomfortable under the gaze of fifty odd pairs of eyes, glanced to the floor. He froze, suddenly- what was that?

He knelt again, uncurling her hand to reveal a small scrap of paper. Alby leant down and plucked it from her fist, at the same time fluidly pulling the twelve year old to his feet.

"She's the last one." He read out hollowly. The glade descended into anarchy.

"You know," Someone who Thomas didn't know the name of spoke up, "That means no more supplies."

Newt reached out for Thomas, who moved towards him. The older glader hoisted the boy to solid ground. The child let out a shaky breath, and Newt pulled him into a half-embrace, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

Alby beckoned Gally to help him, and together they lifted the teen out of the lift. Thomas saw Alex and Jeff, and a couple of others run towards them with a sort of stretcher, one made out of what looked like reeds.

Newt pulled Thomas away from the group, and the dark lift, and the twelve year old was grateful.

"You okay, kiddo?" The twenty year old asked, softly. His eyes were full of understanding. He did understand, he'd been the exact same. "The fear- it goes away after a bit."

Thomas nodded, not quite believing him. It was probably because he was young, he thought sourly. "Okay, but…. it's just a lift, I mean, I shouldn't be so scared, it's stupid, it's-"

Newt cut him off. "Everyone gets scared of the lift- everybody. You were trapped there, in the dark, with no memories, kid. I'd be worried if you weren't at least a little afraid." His tone was fierce. "You have to remember that."

Thomas just shook his head, ignoring the elder's eyes that were burning into his skull, he shouldn't be scared of a box, couldn't be….

"Tommy?"

Thomas looked up again.

"You know that girl-"

"I don't know her, I told Alby." Thomas scuffed his shoe on the floor. "I don't remember her."

"But you recognised her." Newt's voice was soft- and he wasn't asking. "You've got something to do with this, Tommy, something to do with what's happening- with everything. Kid, everything's changing."

Thomas' shoulders slumped. "Maybe," he breathed. "I don't know- I mean… there was something…" He trailed off. "I can't help." he mumbled. "I don't know anything."

Newt's gaze was constant, as if he was trying to read the young boy's ever-changing expression. "Come with me." He eventually said. "Kiddo- we need you to remember." He grasped the child's sleeve, tugging him back towards the huts. He sounded distant. "We need your memories."

* * *

Hope you liked it :-)


	6. File 1: 6

**I really want to apologise for how long it took to get this chapter up. I'm back at school now, and it's harder to get time to write. I'm trying though, and I'm not going to abandon this story- I really like writing it. I hope you like this chapter, and thankyou to everyone who reviewed. You really made my day:-)**

Chuck pulled himself to his feet, bending to pick up his bucket. It stank.

Slopper. How aptly named.

He was a slopper for a reason, though. There wasn't much else he could do. Small, young, stupid.

He was bloody fifteen, and already hopeless. If he were outside the klunk hole known as the glade, he'd have probably been a cleaner. He could clean. The glade was filthy, he'd had to learn fast. Maybe it would be for a school, or something. Not that cleaners were bad or anything- it was just…..

Or a bathroom cleaner.

Newt and Minho and Alby- hell, even Gally- and all the gladers really, were clever. They were smart. Ask them a question, any question, they'd know.

Not that they'd know how they knew, of course- as the curse of the Glade, memories were wiped.

But still, they knew.

Chuck, he didn't know anything. Ask him nine squared, he'd hesitate, ask him the square root of nine, he wouldn't know. The others- probably even baby Tommy- they all knew.

He was stupid.

Maybe that was what scared him, he'd be as hopeless as he was here, even if they did get out… perhaps…

No. He wanted to get out of there as much as anybody.

But the seeds of doubt were cast, and he found himself wondering, would the outside be any better?

* * *

Newt brought Thomas into the med-jack's hut. It was warmer, he realised, than any of the others, and he glanced around, gazing at the window frames, recognising the wideness of them.

So, the walls were insulated. That really didn't make sense- whoever the creators were wanted them cosy?

"Here." Newt said hurriedly, pulling him to the bed where the girl lay. "Please try, kiddo please just think-"

"Teresa."

Newt blinked. "What?"

Thomas shook his head, confused. "I don't know, I mean it just came in my head, I mean-"

"Teresa, that's her name?" Newt seemed eager. "You sure."

"No." Thomas frowned. "I could be wrong."

Newt sighed. "We'll wait till she wakes up, if her name is Teresa, then we'll know that you know. We need you to remember. Try anything that feels like recognition- anything."

We need you to remember…. Newt had said something like that earlier, 'We need your memories.' Did they need them that much?

Newt had obviously talked it over with Alby, and the other keepers, though, he could tell. The older boy's brow was creased in frustration and… confusion. It surprised him.

But then, weren't they all confused?

Thomas glanced up at the taller, suddenly feeling very young, "Newt, what's going on? I don't understand." The sick feeling came back, and he swallowed to stop himself from crying.

Newt looked down at the child, and his expression rapidly cleared. "Everything's fine." He spoke in a tone so strong, that Thomas had no choice but to believe him. "You don't need to worry, kiddo."

He slung an arm around the boy's shoulders. "You should get back. I bet Zart's been wondering where you are."

Thomas nodded. "Yeah, okay." He murmured. Newt led him out of the room, chattering non-stop about something or other. The twelve year old was grateful, because maybe some things could be normal, ordinary (though anybody would be hard-pressed to find ordinary in the glade.)

And the anxiety disappeared, just for a while.

* * *

Flashes of white light, noise.

That was all.

A child, a little boy. Large trusting, azure eyes. Comfort.

Nothing more than a baby, really.

He cried- he never normally cried, but then, this wasn't normal. This wasn't a place for babies.

He reached out.

And then- "Don't touch my brother!" High pitched, child -like shriek.

His hand was burning.

And he screamed. Again.

And then- he ran.

* * *

Zart wasn't normally one for violence- but when he saw a six foot tall eighteen year old practically throw themselves on a little kid, he just snapped.

The child shrieked in alarm (and probably fear) and God, could that kid yell.

It was like ice trickling down his veins.

He leapt over, past caring about the plants he was trampling, and he caught hold of the young man, dragging him back sharply.

Someone else- Johnny, a guy who often helped out at the garden, took hold of the struggling glader's other arm. Zart felt he could swallow again, as he breathed out shakily.

He glanced down at the twelve year old, a little fearful. Was he okay?

No.

Thomas had tears rolling down his cheeks, as he struggled to breathe. A panic attack? The kid was gasping like a goldfish out of water.

That was when Zart, man of very few words, began hollering. "Newt! Bloody hell, Jeff, get over here!"

A sound of pounding footsteps. Alby, Newt, Jeff, Alex.

Alby was next him straight away, the both of them sending the crazed man plummeting to the floor.

"Ben!" The older yelled. "What the shucking hell are you doing?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Zart could see the other four crowding around Thomas, so much that he didn't actually have sight of the kid anymore.

"Let me go!" Ben protested wildly. "Let me go!"

"What do you want with him?" Alby asked threateningly. "He's just a little kid."

Ben stared up at them, and the young men couldn't help but be a little afraid of the half-manic grin on his face. He'd gone. That was it.

With a croaking voice he answered. "He has to die."

A swift uppercut to the jaw sorted it all out. They dragged him away. He wasn't going anywhere but the slammer.

* * *

Thomas' eyes were closed. There were people there, he knew- he could hear them. But he couldn't see them, because his eyes were close, and he couldn't open his eyes because he was scared, and he was scared because-

Someone was shaking his shoulders. "Please," They were saying. "Please, Tommy. Breathe."

"What's going to happen? Jeff?"

"Alex it's okay."

"Thomas you have to breathe."

"But what if he dies."

"He won't."

"Breathe! Dammit!"

He gasped, his eyelids flying back. Light flooded his vision, both blinding him and bringing back his sight. Both torture and bliss. "Newt," he rasped, trembling, sorting through the confused haze of his mind for any sort of recognition, "Newt, he grabbed me."

The older glader caught him up in a strong embrace. "He can't get you." A whisper. "I promise you're safe."

Thomas looked up, saltwater tracking down his cheeks. "He grabbed me." he sobbed. "He grabbed me."

Alex knelt down. "It's okay." He was trying to sound soothing, but his voice cracked. He was probably nearly as panicked a the child in front of him. He needed to know, though. "Thomas, are you hurt?"

"No." The little boy- for at that point, that's all he really was- shook his head. "I'm not. He just… scared me." He was still half curled on Newt's lap, who didn't look as if he were letting the child go any time soon.

"Still." The sixteen year old fought to keep his voice level. "I need to check you over, just in case." His mind was running at a million miles an hour, he was in shock to be honest, too.

Something flickered then, in the younger's eyes. Not the terror that was there previously, but.. apprehension.

Jeff pushed past him then, but not before squeezing his shoulder tightly. The older med-jack pulled the twelve year old up, lifting him off the ground. Thomas didn't protest, which worried Alex a little- not that he wasn't incredibly concerned anyway- because twelve year old boys don't like being carried.

Newt rose too, looking as pale as Alex felt. He stopped by the sixteen year old. "Don't think about it." He murmured. "Ben made his choice. Please don't think about it." There was a soft note of pleading in his tone, and Alex swallowed convulsively.

"Okay." He whispered. "Okay."

He stayed where he was, watching the retreating back of the elder.

Because any hope he had was gone.


	7. File 1: 7

**Here's the next chapter. Sorry if its not that good, or as good as the others. I never can tell. Anyway, things are really kicking off... for the moment I'm gonna stick quite closely to the plot that James Dashner wrote, but as time goes on Im gonna move further away, i think.**

**Anyway thanks to anybody who reviewed, I'm really grateful, and I hope you enjoy reading this.**

Chapter 7

Thomas stood in the med jack's hut, shivering. He wasn't cold, but he couldn't stop. He'd remembered the bruises- he'd never really forgotten them. Jeff wanted to see his back, because that was where he landed when Ben had landed on him.

The man hadn't been sane, he'd seen it in his eyes, he was half crazed, madness driven by the griever venom pumping through his veins.

Thomas had been _attacked._

Shaking his head, he fixed his eyes on a spot on the wall. It was no good dwelling on it. He'd have to push it out of his mind… he'd have to-

He could still feel them though. Hands grasping his neck. Tightening.

He could've _died._

Newt's face swam into his vision, and Thomas let out a choked sob. "Newt." His voice cracked with terror. "He grabbed me. I- I- he-" He shook suddenly.

Jeff's voice came, as if he was talking through a filter. "He's still in shock, probably." He was calm, clinical, and yet there was a slight tremor in his voice.

He was just a kid, really, like the rest of them. No-one had any proper training- not that they could remember, anyway.

"Arms up." Thomas heard, and a far away part of his mind obeyed. His shirt was tugged off, and he was immediately spun around, and-

"Oh my God."

"Alex move. What the hell is that?"

Thomas swallowed, as he pushed his mind to think rationally. "What is it?"

Then he was sat down, and turned so he could see their frozen faces.

Alex was the one who spoke. "Kiddo, your back- I mean the bruises, they're old you know, and-"

He peered at Thomas suddenly. "Shuck! -they're all over you." He lifted an arm to inspect it. "How long have you known?"

Newt stared at Thomas. "Did you know?" His tone was stern, but his eyes gentle, and the twelve year old lifted his own to meet them.

"Just this morning." He mumbled. Glancing quickly over, he could see Alex's slightly raised eyebrows. "I didn't- I mean, maybe before, but I was banged around in the box, and I thought it was just that, and, and I, I mean… it doesn't matter much really, so I just thought-"

"Thomas."

Thomas looked up at Alby, who was standing in the corner of the room, his face passive, but his eyes betraying their fear. "Kid, your back… have you seen that?"

The boy shook his head. "No." he whispered. "But the others, I mean… they're just bruises, right?"

The older glader just shook his head, coming over, and kneeling down right in front of him. "Thomas." His voice was soft, yet serious- so very solemn. "Thomas your back- it, well, it looks kinda like someone's whipped you."

Thomas closed his eyes. "Oh." He whispered. "But they- they put me here- and- it's- they-" His mind couldn't seem to form coherent sentences.

"We ain't gonna let them." Newt cut in, suddenly. "If we get out, Tommy, I swear to God, whoever did this is going to pay." His voice was venomous, anger rolling out of him in waves. "Jesus- and to a little kid as well."

Even Jeff, who seemed so collected normally, was restraining his anger. It made Thomas weak at the knees, and he shivered again.

Silently, Alex passed him back his shirt, and Jeff stated. "Your skin's not broken, so you should be okay."

Except that he wouldn't be.

He didn't remember getting the bruises- he'd probably be jumpier if he did. But the memories didn't matter. It was the _knowledge…._

"Tommy?"

The child glanced at Newt.

"You're going to okay, Tommy, you know that- yeah?" The twenty year old stared hopefully at him.

Thomas nodded. "Yeah." he muttered. He figured Newt needed more reassuring than he did. He nodded. "Yes."

* * *

They'd waited till the runners got back, Newt said, because they needed all the keepers to make a decision- and that included Minho.

The decision was made pretty quickly though, and when it was announced, hadn't understood. He knew it was bad, though. It was as if everyone in the glade had taken a simultaneous gasp of horror, terror, grief.

And that was it- grief.

Griever's killed people, Newt said, if they didn't get the serum in time. They killed people at night, when they were trapped in there, all alone.

Thomas' face was stony. It was his fault that this guy, this kid, was getting banished. _His fault._ If he'd never come here, it would never have happened. But how could they do this?

What could possess anyone to do this?

It was sickening.

The keepers were standing around Ben, by the doors. He was struggling, fighting with all his might, only to fail. A leather collar clung to his neck, held by each of those surrounding him. They were grasping lengths of tough leather, tied scruffily but securely to the choking mechanism. It was torture, it was inhumane….

It wasn't right.

"Stop!" He cried, and everyone turned to look at him. "Please, you're killing him you're-" He sucked in a sharp breath. "Please…."

Alby's eyes caught onto his, a mixture of pain, understanding. "Someone, just get him out of here." The older glader said. " Get him away."

Thomas was caught by his upper arms, and he struggled furiously. Angrily "No!" He yelled. "Can't you see it's wrong, you're giving him the death penalty!" They had to know, had to get it. They couldn't do this, could they? This was a human life.

Alby started talking then, over him, as he was being practically dragged from the crowd. "Ben, of the runners, we hereby sentence you to be banished, for attempted murder on-"

Thomas fled.

He sobbed, running and running and running, away from everything. It was his fault.

His fault, his fault, his fault.

Curled up, in the gardens, he started wailing.

No-one could hear him. They were all watching somebody being murdered.

It was _his fault._

* * *

"Thomas?"

Thomas glanced up, to see nothing but blackness. His face was illuminated by a torchlight.

Minho had a habit of being able to find people.

The boy curled up further, and the older glader knelt before him. "Thomas, I know it's horrible- I- I hate it too. Please- you gotta understand."

Thomas just shrugged. Was Minho just saying that?

The twenty-one year old laughed hollowly. "He was a runner. One of my best."  
"Is that all you care about?" Thomas spat angrily. He ignored Minho's shocked face. "That he was good at _running_? You don't even know if he's dead."

There was the shred of hope.

The elder's expression cleared. "No. But no-one survives, Thomas." His voice was gentle- perhaps patronising, but Thomas knew it wasn't meant in that way.

"Then why put him in?" He just to know… if they had a reason- a good one, then maybe...

MInho shook his head. "Order." He ground out. "It's about order, Tommy." His tone was still calm, but anger was seeping through it. "Everything's about order."

Thomas nodded, as if to show Minho he understood.

"If everyone knew you could kill someone and just get locked up for a bit- most people here are teenagers, kid, late teens mind you, but still, just eighteen." Minho shook his head. "I'm one of the oldest, kid- I'm just twenty. They'd do it, y'know? It's like a family here, really. We're all each other has, but…. there are still grudges." He slammed his fist into the soft dirt.

"It doesn't make it right." The twelve year old mumbled. "It isn't right."

"No." Minho breathed. "It isn't, is it?" The young man looked at the child then, properly. He laid a hand atop the mass of dark curls. "It'll be okay." He managed a smile. "We'll protest next time, yeah?"

Thomas nodded shakily. "Yeah." And then- "Was it me?"

"I'm sorry?" Minho looked taken aback.

"I-I mean, if I wasn't here, he'd never have done that. I just-"

"No." Minho's eyes were wide. "No, no, no. It's not your fault, kiddo. It's never been your fault."

"But-"

"No." The twenty year old shook his head. "Look," He stood, brushing the dirt off his knees. "Come on. They've gotta know I've found you."

Thomas shook his head. "They did it, though." He whispered. "Ben's gonna die."

"I did too." Minho looked at him carefully. "You're mad at me?"

Thomas shook his head, standing. "You didn't want to." His eyes betrayed his fear. "Minho, I don't like this place." He started to cry again. "I don't _like_ it."

The older glader just wrapped an arm around him. "No one wanted to, Tommy. Nobody. But it had to be done, not matter how wrong it was. Let's go back, huh?" He tugged the child forward a bit. He wasn't normally the comforting sort- sarcastic was normally a word to describe him. But there was a kid, an innocent in this stupid place, and that was wrong. It'd never been right, but this was a whole new level of _horrible._

"Yeah." The little boy shuddered. "Okay."

But it wasn't okay- whoever the creators were, they must be able to see, they were cracking, crumbling.

All of them.


	8. File 1: 8

**I'm really sory this took so long, and I'm also sorry it's so terribly bad, if it's any consolation, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night... If I didn't type it up today, i'd probably have ended up waiting another week.**

**Regardless, I hope you like it, and please review and tell me what you think. :-)**

Chapter 8

The girl woke to darkness. She lay there, frozen, her rapid heartbeat thumping in her ears, knocking around her skull.

"H-hello?" Timid, shy. "Please, help me…." The blackness seemed to smother her like a fog. "Please…"

There was no answer.

She was lying on something soft, though, a bed, perhaps? The lightless atmosphere prevented her from actually knowing, but there were blankets covering her body, and a pillow rested beneath her head.

She was still scared, though.

"Hello?" She ventured a little louder. "Is anybody here?" She pushed herself into a sitting position.

_Somebody_ must have put her there.

"Hey?"

A light switch flicked on- azure eyes met golden brown.

She flinched.

"Hey, hey. It's okay! You're safe." The young man in front of her brought out his hands, surrendering. "It's okay. I promise." He was sitting in another bed opposite. There was something different about it though-clinical, almost.

The girl's lip quivered. "Where- where am I?" She was so, so scared. Shivering, not from cold, but fright.

"The Glade." Though his tone was light, something in the man's eyes flickered.

"Where is th-that?" She inwardly scowled at her stutter- if this man was an enemy, he'd think her weak.

Was she weak? She could hardly remember.

Her question seemed to stump the man. "I don't know." He shrugged. "None of us do- really, but we won't hurt you."

"Us?" She whispered softly- fearfully.

The man looked tired then. "I can't tell you stuff now- nobody's awake. Listen, my name's Jeff, yeah? Do you think you can tell me yours?"

That one she knew. "Teresa."

Something reminiscent of recognition flashed across his face. "Teresa? Are you sure?"

Teresa frowned. "I reckon I'd know my own name."

"You know anything else?"

Well, that question was strange. "I can't remember anything," She answered carefully. "If that's what you mean."

Jeff sighed softly. "Go back to sleep." He muttered gently. "We can talk tomorrow."

At her anxious expression, his features fell into a more reassuring expression. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."

She let the darkness overcome her.

* * *

"Thomas. Wake up."

Thomas blinked up at the boy hovering over him. "What?" He reached out to rub the sleep out of his eyes, before closing them again. He swallowed as the events of yesterday came crashing into his head.

Someone shook his shoulder. "The girl's awake! Newt needs you down there, now. Though you probably should get dressed first."

The twelve year old climbed out, looking up at the sixteen year old in surprise. "She woke up?" His eyes were wide, and the exhaustion slowly began to ebb away.

Alex smiled, looking a little anxious. "That's what I said." His expression turned serious, then. "Thomas, do you- I mean, do you remember her? Is that why they want you there?"

Thomas bit his lip, hesitantly. "I don't… remember her. Not really. It's just, I don't know- I think I've seen her before." He shrugged. "I don't understand much of anything."

Alex nodded. "You ran away last night." He spoke bluntly, and his tone was fearful. "You've done that twice now, kid. You're scaring us."

The boy looked up wildly. "There's nothing wrong with me!" His denial sent his heart pounding through his chest.

"Of course not." The older boy spoke softly. "Not you, Thomas- this place. It affects everyone, and you're just so young. It'd be natural for it to affect you differently." His voice was calm, a contrast to earlier, and Thomas' heart slowed a little.

"I was scared." He whispered. "That's why. I was just scared." The terror was still alight within him, still burning through his chest.

"You can't run away whenever you're scared, Thomas." Suddenly, Alex sounded old, though he was just in his mid-teens. "It puts you in more danger. This isn't any place for a kid."

"You're a kid too, Alex." Thomas shook his head, "I've got to get changed." He muttered, and the older boy just grinned amicably before ruffling his hair.

"Be quick squirt." The sixteen year old turned and jogged out of the room- probably to find Jeff.

The child pulled on his clothes quickly. Were they ever going to get out? Be free, normal?

Were they ever going to live, instead of just survive?

He was just a little kid compared to the rest of the gladers, though. He couldn't do anything about it. He was too young. Too young to be a runner- too young to help.

He took off at a run towards the Med-jack's hut, his thoughts bouncing around his head, jumbling together.

He couldn't make sense of this- of any of it. The whole place just didn't make sense. The maze- what was the purpose? Why were they there? Who created the place?

"Tommy!"

The boy tumbled into Newt, nearly crashing to the ground, if the older glader hadn't managed to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "Careful." Was his only warning.

Thomas just nodded, and the twenty year old pulled him away from the doorway a moment. "Are you okay?" He asked, lowly. "Yesterday- we shouldn't have let you see that."

Thomas leaned into the comforting hand pulling through his dark curls. "I'm fine." He whispered. "But- why did you do it?"

Newt looked down at the child. "We have too. People can't get away with that sort of stuff, you know. Ben nearly killed you." He shook his head. "Minho said- he said you were blaming yourself. You didn't do anything, yeah? It was the serum- it turned Ben crazy."

"But, what if it was?" Thomas asked. "My fault, I mean. Ben only wanted to kill me 'cause he got some of his past. What if I did something bad?" He was close to tears again- again- and somewhere in the back of his mind he told himself to stop being such a crybaby.

Newt gathered the boy into an embrace. "You're going to be okay." It seemed so meaningless now- he wasn't going to be okay. "I won't let them get you." How could he do anything?

"Come on." The older glader pushed Thomas forward so he was in front of him. "She's scared, so be gentle, though."

Thomas moved through the wooden door frame, his eyes searching for the dark head of hair so much like his own. She was standing, just staring at her toes, but her gaze flickered upwards to accommodate the newcomers. Her eyes met with Thomas' and she turned her head towards him.

He stared at eyes, his eyes wide. He'd seen her before obviously, in the lift, and when Newt had brought him in there- but she was awake now. Her eyes alight with poorly concealed mischief, under a thin layer of fear.

Large, bright azure eyes.

They blinked, a second, and stared right back at him. The colour of her irises reflecting in his own.

Azure against azure, blue against blue.

Her hair was a mop of dark brown curls- unbrushed and unwashed- yet so...

Her mouth…. her lips wide and full, her nose was upturned. It struck him as recognisable because he'd seen it before- backwards of course because that was how mirrors worked….

It was a cold realisation.

Suddenly, he found himself clinging to her. His arms up, around her neck. Her chin rested on the top of his head, and her frail frame shook.

"Tommy? What-" Newt began, but he was hushed by someone.

Thomas' tears soaked the girls shoulder. This time they weren't tears of fear, or anger, or grief. He was happy, for once, in this godforsaken place. The girl was holding him equally hard, rubbing his head with her palm. This was happiness, this was bliss…

"Jesus." Someone whispered, Alby. "She- he- they're-" For once, the leader couldn't formulate a sentence.

"Tommy?" Newt spoke again, this time more gently, and Thomas pulled away, until the two children were simply clutching hands. "Tommy, is she your-"

"Sister." Thomas finished, nodding, his blue eyes wide, innocence practically pouring out of them in waves. "She's my sister- my big sister."

"I'm Teresa." The girl, now Teresa said, softly, biting her lip- a habit it was clear both siblings shared. "Like Jeff said, like Tom said. I'm Teresa."

* * *

**Did you like it? Or not? Please tell me:-)**


	9. File 1: 9

Chapter 9

He felt sick.

The nausea left him curled in a ball, hot tears squeezing from under his eyelids, sucking in harsh breaths. He knew his forehead was warm- burning even, but shivers wracked his body. He was so cold.

Cold, hot, cold, hot, cold.

It seemed to be a cycle.

The fifteen year old just sat there, though. He was sick, sure. He was ill, but it didn't really matter.

He just need to get things done, that was all. To get what he could done- not that he could do an awful lot, but he assumed it was the sentiment that counted.

He might as well be useful.

Chuck stifled a cough into his hand. He was ill, but he'd just have to get through it. It'd be over in a little bit, the sickness, the coughing, the fever. In a few days at least, he'd be fine. Just a few days.

He couldn't expect to bother anyone, they wouldn't want it- didn't need it, not really. He'd be fine- not that he could ever remember being sick before. He could get them sick, and they didn't deserve that, none of them.

That was when the tiny voice whispered, but you do.

He shivered again. It was getting colder, wasn't it? But then, the glade never really got cold or hot. Mildly warm, usually. Or cold, but never terrible.

Why was that?

'This means,' the fifteen year old thought glumly. 'I'm getting worse.'

It was freezing, and the chill crept through his bones like someone was injecting him with liquid ice. He sniffed back a few more tears, it wouldn't do to cry, they'd just laugh at him.

Everyone seemed to laugh at him. He wasn't surprised- but it hurt, and though he expected it, it was still painful.

"Hey?"

Chuck flinched, trembling, terrified. he didn't need this, not now. Not again.

"Whoa, hey kid." Someone had shoved the branches back, exposing the curled up form under the bush. Chuck squinted, but his vision was tilting and blurring, and he could barely make out anything.

Then there was cool hand on his forehead, and a sharp intake of breath. "Oh my God." Someone breathed, and there was a softness to their tone that one would normally associate with Newt-

Except Chuck could've sworn the voice was Gally's.

He pushed them away weakly. "No, I wan'..." But the words were slurred, and they fell on deaf ears. "Go 'ay.."

Then he was hauled to his feet, and he nearly fell, but whoever it was wrapped an arm under his own. "Come on." They muttered. "Come on kid, we just gotta get you there."  
The fifteen year old was stumbling, falling, and blackness started to dot his vision.

"No, no, no." The person yelped. "No, kid, don't pass out, please-"

But their efforts were in vain, and Chuck found himself face-planting the floor. Always graceful.

Why did it always happen to him?

* * *

He woke up in a daze, feeling a cool liquid trickling into his ear. Someone had placed a cool cloth on his forehead- it felt nice, soothing against the dark heat.

"Chuck!"

Thomas was sitting by him, his blue eyes wide. "Chuck, you collapsed. Are you okay? Are you ill?" The twelve year old shifted, as if he wanted jump around. "What happened?"

Chuck pushed himself up, wincing at the headache, but shaking himself quickly. He was fine, he just needed to get up.

He swung his legs over the side, and a small hand caught hold of his shoulder.

"You're supposed to stay in bed." Thomas, whispered imploringly. "Jeff said you were really sick. He said you have to rest, or it could get worse."

"Jeff's not a doctor." Really, Chuck was just saying what had to be said. "And I'm okay. It was probably just last night."

"But he said that today. Chuck you were asleep a day and a half." The kid was really getting on his nerves. "That means you're still sick."

"When did he say that?"

"Maybe about an hour ago? I don't know." The child shrugged helplessly. "But you are ill." His eyes had a glint of fiery determination in them, that made Chuck wonder. "Why don't you want to stay here?"

Chuck shrugged helplessly. "I just don't?" He asked. "I dunno, I mean, I guess I've just got to get back to work, you know- they can't function without me." He said the last part jokingly, pushing away the irritation. Thomas was just trying to help, and they were supposed to be friends. "I reckon I'm good enough to get up, kiddo."

Thomas just watched him, a glimmer of concern flashing across his face. "You're ill." He said quietly. "You don't need to work when you're ill."

Chuck swallowed, trying to put it into words. "I do." He told the child. "I'm not that sick anyway, though- but I have to help, yeah? I can't just be useless."

Thomas looked at him oddly, but shrugged. "Sure." He said. "But, you know- if you get sick like before, you gotta come back, right?"

"Right." Chuck nodded. "But I won't." He swung himself fully out of the bed. "I've got to get back to work." He pulled on his jumper from the floor, which someone had evidently removed. "I've gotta get back."

* * *

Thomas swallowed- he didn't quite know why he was seeking the older glader out- maybe it was the ache in the center of his forehead, but something had been bugging him all day really. He was kind of anxious and jittery, and pretty jumpy. Alex had just put his hand on his shoulder, and the twelve year old had nearly shrieked in terror. He _was_ feeling pretty miserable, though.

"Newt?"

"Yeah?"

Thomas bit his lip softly. "Newt, is Chuck okay?" There was something off- there had been for a while, and the twelve year old had to figure it out.

The young man glanced up, then, his light eyes suddenly unreadable. "Tommy, being here isn't easy, yeah?"

"Yeah." Thomas nodded. He knew that. "But Chuck acts so different." He could see it, every time he saw the older glader, there was something in his eyes- bleakness flatness, he wasn't sure, but it was foreign, and to be honest, kind of scary. "What if he- he-" He couldn't really voice it, it was too terrifying. The idea made him ill, sick, and he wondered if maybe he'd caught what Chuck had.

Newt shrugged slightly. "Chuck's always been like that, even when he came here." His tone was reserved. "Always." He sighed suddenly. "I don't know kiddo, I worry too- but in here, the glade I mean, we can't do anything, can't help… I don't know." He pulled the child towards him, ruffling his hair. "It'll be okay, yeah? We've just gotta watch him. Just tell me if he does anything strange, right? You can do that."

He could. "None of us are normal." Thomas's tone was bitter, and he could feel Newts careful gaze on him. Maybe it sounded wrong, coming from the mouth of twelve year old.

"No." The twenty year old's voice was a strange mix of sorrow and resignation, and… anger? It was restrained though, and when he spoke again he sounded closer to normal. "Kiddo, it's gonna be okay. We'll get out of here." The 'I promise' was unspoken, but it rung clear, and Thomas' eye watered a little. "I'm not going to let them keep us here." His tone was strong, determined.

The twelve year old did cry then, for what felt like the millionth time. Alex said he was brave, but he didn't think so- not really. Not like this. He cried all the time. That couldn't be anything but weak. He cried when he was sad, happy- none of the other gladers did that. None of them.

A strong arm wrapped around him, and Thomas felt safe. His body shook with sobs. They wracked his body- deep, wrenching, heartfelt cries. He felt so young at that moment, and he didn't understand just why, but he did. He clung to the twenty year old, tears soaking the elder's shoulder.

"You're going to be okay." Newt just kept whispering, and Thomas wondered if he'd been born with the 'comforting big brother' gene, because it fit him so perfectly. "You'll be okay."

Thomas nodded, still hiding his face from the world. "I'm being a baby." His words were muffled, but still audible, because the elder gently removed the boy, so he could see him properly.

"You're not." His tone was fierce. "Tommy, you're twelve. You're a child, not even a teenager. Nobody thinks you're a baby."

"But I cry all the time." Thomas whispered. "I do, and that's babyish."

Newt seemed to think a moment, "It isn't." He finally said. "You're littler than the rest of us Tommy, and this is an incredibly scary situation- for adults, let alone kids. You're not crying more than the rest of us first did- that's amazing in itself."

Thomas just nodded. Newt was clever- anyone could tell from the moment they met him, and far more mature than he had any right to be. His words were practically gold dust, and they always made sense.

"Right." Newt grinned. "And I reckon Frypan's saved us something to eat, so we might as well go have it."

"Okay."

"And we can get you something for that fever."

* * *

**I hope you liked it- I've sort of gone off on a tangent and I hope you don't mind. It's a bit of an insight into who Chuck is though, and I've always thought the books don't really have him in them enough. Review please, and tell me what you think :-)**


	10. File 1: 10

**Oh my god I'm so sorry! i know i haven't updated in ages and you probably hate me :-( it s a really short chapter as well. I hope you can forgive me...**

**Anyway, things are picking up pace a little. I still have a few plot twists planned, but in general i'll probably stick close...ish to the books. After they get to the scorch trials though... anything could happen :-)**

Chapter 10

"Newt?" The young blue eyed girl blinked up at him, her gaze soft. "Newt- it's okay."

The twenty year old stared at her, his eyes sharp- because it wasn't okay. How could it possibly be okay? "Teresa-"

"No!" She was fierce, angry even. "No, you can't just give up, Newt. It doesn't work like that. It never has, the gladers- they need you!"

"Alby's gone." The elder of the two whispered, "And they need him."

They glared at each other, tense, frozen, neither backing down. Out of the corner of his eye, Newt could see some of the gladers watching, staring. This was likely interesting to see, really.

Because Thomas _had to go in there_. The stupid little boy had to be brave, he tried to help- and nobody stopped him. No-one had grabbed him, nobody followed him. They'd just stood there, while a twelve year old leapt to his death.

It was pathetic, really.

And it wasn't like Teresa hadn't panicked either. Her high pitched scream had followed his own shouts of, "Don't you dare!", and "Tommy!"

The kid had cried, for God's sake, broken down in sobs, and Newt had been the one to lift her up and hug her- because her brother had been swallowed by the labyrinth of black, and was probably dead-

No. He couldn't think that.

But she didn't have the right to say that, to say any of that to him, because while she'd lost a brother, _he'd lost three._

If none came back, he'd be alone.

Right then, right there, he hated her. Her eyes were full of such empathy, and understanding, and God, he wanted to shake her.

He couldn't though, and the urge subsided, curled away, until it was simply a distant memory.

"Newt, you're second in command, remember? This is your job." Her expression was kind- sincerely so, and Newt knew she was genuine.

He looked up, then, and addressed the rest of the gladers, "It carries on as normal. Get to work."

Those were the only words they seemed to need.

* * *

It was dark.

Thomas stood, frozen, as Minho gaped at him. He hadn't meant to, but the older glader was in trouble, and he just ran….

Minho leapt up just then, his expression unreadable. "What was that?" He hissed, his tone beyond measurable shades of anger.

"I-" Thomas just shook his head. "Don't, Minho- please." He whispered. He was already scared, he couldn't have Minho mad at him, he just couldn't…..

"I can't help you both." Minho whispered. "I can't, you understand that? Even then, kid, we might-"

Thomas shook his head, his eyes taking in the barely illuminated passages. "We won't." He sounded years older. "We can't."

"Except- we can." Minho closed his eyes. "Nobody's immortal you know- we've gotta get going."

"I'm not leaving Alby."

The anger was palpable, real, terrifying. "You selfish little brat!" And then suddenly the older glader was shaking him. "I'm trying to save you, don't you get it? _I'm trying to get you out alive._" He sobbed. "Oh God, Oh God. We're really going to die!" He stared into the child's eyes, trying desperately to find something that wasn't there. His grip tightened. "Tommy." He whispered. "We're gonna die."

Their lives were over.

"Let me go!" Thomas practically shrieked. "Ow." He whimpered. "Let me go." Trembling, he shook his head. "We won't die" He spoke softly, with a confidence he didn't deserve. "We won't die, Minho." He was so scared, but his voice was quiet, as if dealing with a spooked animal. "Let me go."

Minho dropped the boy as if he were burned. "I'm- I-" But he didn't finish.

The grating noise tore through their chests, the waves of sound rippling through the earth, and Thomas was thrown backwards, screaming as the back of his head made contact with the wall.

Then, he was alone.

He stared at the stone slab separating them in confusion, bewilderment. He reached gingerly around his hair, flinching when his hand probed something wet, warm…

Blood.

He had to stand, though, to get up, to walk. If he didn't, he'd be dead. If he couldn't get away, he'd be killed.

"I'm only twelve." He whispered, as he struggled to raise his head. "I'll die."

And he stared down the black passageway, the neverending darkness, he couldn't bring himself to care, not really. This existence was pointless- why should they live in a world of just them?

It seemed wrong.

A moan cut off his self-pitying thoughts, and he screamed in terror, his eyes darting to find which creature made the sound. A sudden shock seemed to ripple through him as he stared wide eyes at the bleeding man on the floor. Alby was with him. Hurt, helpless.

Oh God… He echoed Minho's earlier sobs. He couldn't do this, he couldn't think… there was no way. Nobody had ever survived, Newt said. Nobody.

Except….

There had to be something- because there was a reason they were kept there. A massive maze, with supposedly no way out. That would be pointless. That would be downright stupid.

Thick creepers climbed the stone walls, curling into the crevices. They seemed to taunt him- they were free to do things, go places. The gladers were stuck there.

But they depended on the walls as much as the vines, for protection as opposed to suport….

Support.

A whirring clicking noise sounded, closer, closer.

Thomas sucked in a sharp breath, coldness freezing his insides. He had to_ do something-_ he couldn't just leave Alby alone, unprotected.

He tugged on the vines, relief flooding his system when they held. Alby was heavier than he was, so he couldn't be sure, but-

It was better than nothing.

He dragged the older glader under the arms. His trembling fingers looped the greening around the man, harnessing him, securing him. Then he pulled. He shouldn't have been able to, he didn't have the strength- he was running on pure adrenaline, pure fear, but it worked.

Inch by inch, painstakingly slowly, and the clicks and whirrs were coming, louder, louder, louder, until his eardrums were fit to burst. He pulled Alby higher, high enough so that maybe, _maybe_ he'd be safe, that the grievers might not look for him- might not find him.

The twelve year old wanted to scream, and cry. He wanted to beg whatever God that was out there for his life, he wanted to be safe.

Because it was that moment, as he tied the vines into what he hoped was a strong knot, that he saw it.

And in that moment, he knew he was dead.

* * *

**a/n I hope you liked it!:-)**


	11. File 1: 11

Chapter 11

It had sharp spines that jutted out all over it's body. It's head was almost reptilian in nature, and it had long fangs. It's gaze was narrowed and blank, and it's chin bobbed in an almost threatening manner.

Thomas stood, his eyes wide. He couldn't move, his feet felt as though they were glued to the ground. The whirring machine stood stock still, and for a moment the two simply regarded each other, cold eyes meeting quivering. The twelve year old flinched as their gazes made contact, stumbling half a step backwards into hard stone. The whirring got louder, if at all possible, and the machine seemed to come to life. Thomas let out a startled yell of terror, before quickly backing up several steps as a thick metal tentacle came sailing past his ear.

Run.

He fled. He didn't think he'd gone faster in his life, but he knew the creature was just one trip away from flailing him alive. He bit back a sob that threatened to halt his mechanical breathing. He couldn't afford to break stride. He sprinted through the seemingly endless twists and turns, crying and crying and crying. He could barely see, he could-

He froze, a choked scream caught between his lips, a dead end. No- no, no, no- he was too young to die, way too young. he was so scared.

He pressed himself backwards, up against the wall. The griever had stopped at the other end of the passage, as if it was… watching him. It was trying to kill him, right? His breathing quickened, but he took narrow breaths intent upon making no noise. Perhaps- perhaps it couldn't see him?

But it could- Thomas' eyes locked onto the metal orbs staring at him, the were cold, emotionless, but working, apparently.

So, why…..

Then it turned. It turned, and slid away, down the passages round the twists and turns, out of sight.

Thomas collapsed. He curled into a ball, shivering slightly. What was that? Why was he spared? Why wasn't he dead? The twelve year screamed, high pitched and terrified. What had happened? Why wasn't he dead?

What was he supposed to do now?

* * *

Chuck stood at the entrance of the maze. What else was there to do, really? He was counting the seconds….fourth thousand, three hundred and thirty two… fourth thousand, three hundred and thirty three….

Nothing.

There was nothingness there, the walls closed in on each other, on their only way out of the hellhole. Their only way to possible freedom. A one way ticket to certain death.

A coldness seeped into his bones, charring him with freezing flames. Death was only too inviting right then.

But he turned his back on it, he ran towards the small collection of wooden huts, to the chattering of people, of friends. If they didn't have themselves, then what did they have?

Nothing…. An icy tendril of thought wriggled itself into his brain. They were alone.

* * *

Minho was running. He was running, and he was tired.

It had been hours since the walls had shut, though it felt like days. He was sure he'd shut down soon, collapse from exhaustion maybe…

No. No, he couldn't. He had to keep going.

God, was the ground looking awfully inviting though. If he could just lie down…..

No.

He was scared- he didn't think he'd ever been more fearful in his life. Not that he'd ever admit it. Minho, a coward? No way. No way in hell would he tell anyone that.

The thing was, it wasn't just him he was scared for. He was terrified for Tommy, for Alby who was certainly dead at that point. The man was injured, half- crazed by the griever venom- it wouldn't take much to finish him off.

He'd been determined to help Thomas. He'd scared the kid, but honestly, he'd been too freaked out to recognise that. He was trying so hard to save him.

But then there was the wall- he didn't know what had happened, it had just dropped out of nowhere, and he'd been thrown aside, and just like that the kid and Alby were… gone.

Where? He had no idea. The maze had never done anything like that before. He didn't know what to make of it, because for years he'd been mapping it all out. The patterns never changed, the sections just repeated, over and over.

Of course, they'd never had a chance to do it at night before. You weren't supposed to survive a night in the maze, no one had, so of course there were no records. But as far as he knew, walls didn't just drop out of the sky- nor did they move as quickly as that one did. He remembered the slow grating of the doors to the glade closing. Whatever had separated him and the others was nothing like that. It had a purpose, one that it seemingly filled….

The creators wanted them separated.

Damn them.

Minho wanted to scream at them. He wanted to shout at the sky, demand retribution. Demand to know why they'd decided to go and off a twelve year old kid. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd been the kid's last hope. Nobody had ever survived the maze before, and they'd all been adults. What chance did a twelve year old have?

'Maybe you don't' his brain seemed to whisper to him. 'Maybe you have none either. Maybe you've no hope at all.'

As much as he hated to admit it, his mind was right. And he hated it, and he hated himself for it. For as he rounded a corner, he knew that what was chasing him was gaining speed- and there was nothing he could do.

* * *

Thomas was still curled into a corner. It was stupid, he knew, to just stay there like bait. It wasn't like he particularly wanted to be eaten or something, it was just….

He didn't know what it was.

It was stupid though.

He shook his head. He wanted to get up, to run, but there was an ache on his chest- it was crushing him, pulling him down, and on a whim he put his head in his hands.

He'd given up, he realised. He'd given up, and now…

Now he was going to die.

* * *

Where was the kid? Where could he possibly be?

Minho was still searching. He wasn't going to stop, not until he found the kid. The idea that there was even a child in the maze…

Thomas was probably dead anyway.

That didn't matter though. There was a chance, the smallest, slightest probability that there was life left in the boy, and Minho was going to take it.

'I think I'd know.' Minho thought. 'If he'd been killed.'

He would have too, he'd feel it if the child was dead. Something wouldn't be right, the world would've been tilted off it's axis.

Then again, when was anything right?

Minho turned a sharp corner, and then…

Oh, dear God….

* * *

Thomas raised his eyes and nearly threw up. He pushed his back to the wall behind him and stood stiffly.

There were three, no- four… five grievers, staring at him hungrily. Their steel eyeballs simmering, glowering...

Except in that cold, dead, emotionless way.

The griever had left him alone-

To amass an army.

Behind them…. he leaned forward slightly…..

Minho.

The man stood pale, almost green, with his mouth slightly open. Obviously terrified, stricken-

But not for himself.

The twenty year old was ignored by the metal monsters, who seemed to be focused on one target. One person- just a little boy...

What have I done? Thomas thought desperately. What did I do?

His eyes caught Minho's, and the determined look lifted him. Stopped him in his tracks. Made him think.

'I won't give up.' Thomas thought fiercely. 'I won't!'

The monsters had made him their target.

What if he made them his?

* * *

**I'm sorry about the late, late update. I had an acute case of writer's block, as you can probably tell from all the jumping around i did this chapter. I think it was because I wasn't really sure where this story was going, what was going to happen later. I do now though, so I think I'll be updating more quickly. Nothing really happened in this chapter and I apologise for this, and the fact that Minho and Thomas are still in the maze (and in a bit of a sticky situation). The reason is that I need to go about this part in the story slightly more carefully, because something big is going to happen, and I need to kind of space out the story as much as possible between the emotions in the writing. The emotions the characters are feeling are very important at this point.**

**Anyway, enough of that. I hope you enjoyed reading this last chapter, and it would mean so much to me if you review and tell me if you like it, (i apologize if you don't) :-)**


	12. File 1: 12

Chapter 12

Thomas took a step forward. The grievers were stock still, as though they were just waiting for him to strike. And he was, in a way.

He had an idea.

It was stupid, crazy, and would probably get him killed- but staying where he was would definitely get him killed, and he really didn't have any other options.

He ignored his heart leaping around in his chest. He ignored the urge to just give in and start sobbing, and the cold iron bar that decided to just drop into the bottom of his stomach, and turned around and-

And began to climb.

Immediately the whirring started. They were chasing him, he realised as he grabbed vine after vine. They weren't going to let him get away that easily.

Which was what he'd intended, kind of…

Not that it wouldn't have been nice of them to let him go of course.

"Thomas!" He heard Minho yell. "What the hell are you doing?"

Thomas wanted to answer, but he was starting to shake, and opening his mouth would just result in tears. He pushed upwards though, there was nothing else he could do. He had to go higher.. all the grievers had to be climbing- there was no other way.

A griever's claw tore at his trouser leg and he let out a shriek. They were faster than him, they were going to catch him. He was gonna have to jump- jump or die. Jump or die.

Jump and die, perhaps.

He spun around, pushing away from the beige wall, still clinging onto a green vine. He swallowed in mounting horror. If he fell now it'd be on top of the grievers, spines and all. What he was about to do, it was intuition- but then, it always had been, really. He twisted in his makeshift rope swing, bouncing his feet away from the wall on the left, grasping onto another vine. He grinned victoriously as he swung a half circle, catching another green rope, and another- lower, lower, that was it.

Minho's eyes seemed to light up as he realised what the other was doing. He sprinted forward, his arms up, and Thomas let go, tumbling into the other glader, both of them falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and dirt. The elder was up first, and he grasped the twelve year old under the arms. "Run." He hissed, eyes on on the descending metal terrors. "Tommy, run!"

They did. Minho was practically dragging the child though the lighting passages. It was getting closer to morning. The older glader seemed to know where he was, where he was going. The glade? Thomas didn't think so. The doors weren't opening yet. His lungs were burning, ready to give out, but Minho kept pushing him.

"I've got… an… idea." The twenty year old gasped in between strides. "Just… keep… running."

Thomas nodded, though he knew the elder wasn't going to see it. They had to get rid of the grievers. The snarling creatures were getting closer, and the boy knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up completely.

There was an…. opening ahead, and Minho drove them towards it, dust scattering behind their feet as they fled. Some kind of ledge, a steep drop, Thomas realised. He dug his feet into the ground, struggling with all his might.

"No!" He shrieked. "No! Minho, don't!"

"Shut up!" Minho shouted back at him, dragging him forward. "I'm not gonna tip you over the edge, idiot!"

Thomas's eyes widened as he realised what Minho was doing. He allowed himself to be shoved into place. This was… this was incredibly clever.

"Listen." Minho spoke quickly, purposefully, "You jump when I tell you, okay? And not over the edge."

Thomas nodded quickly. "Yeah. Okay."

Minho smiled grimly, turning to face the rapidly approaching grievers. Their metal arms, scythes and claws were whirling around and around. They looked ready to kill.

"In sync." Minho gasped. "Three, two-" He kicked away from the ground. "Go!"

Thomas leapt into the air, along the edge of the cliff, staring in wonder as the grievers fell, one by one over the edge.

He stumbled, trying to regain his balance. "Minho!" He shrieked, pitching forwards. "Minho, help!"

Suddenly there was an arm around him, tugging sharply. "God, kid." The older glader whispered. Thomas was pulled into an embrace- harsh but no less meaningful.

The twelve year old shivered, tears springing to his eyes as he blinked around. A faint glow could be seen over the horizon of nothingness- a soft gold that was both brilliant and blinding.

"Sunrise." Minho spoke, quietly. "We made it."

The words were hollow- carved so only superficially were they good. There was a resounding bleakness that accompanied them. A soft grey seemed to fill the two gladers' minds, coating them in metaphorical black dust.

Thomas was shuddering, he couldn't stop. Every shake resonated within him, pushed him closer and closer to the edge of tears. He felt sick- so sick.

He lurched forward, continually retching even when nothing was left to throw up. A hand found it's way to his head, a strong arm stayed wrapped around his torso, stabilizing him.

"It's okay." The twenty year old murmured soothingly. "It's okay." Minho didn't really do soothing, but this came as close as anything.

Thomas rocked back on his heels. "I wanna go back." He whimpered, hating how weak he sounded. "I wanna go back, Minho. Please."

"We're going." Minho pulled the boy to his feet. He would've carried him too, if not for the fact that he felt like he was about to drop in fatigue. "Come on kiddo. You're gonna be okay."

"What about Alby?"

There was no answer.

"Minho? What about Alby?"

Minho ran a hand over his face. "Alby's dead, Tommy." He muttered gruffly.

"We have to get him down." Thomas couldn't stand it after that.

"Get him-" Minho span around to face the child. "What are you talking about?"

The twelve year old stared desperately at his older companion. "He's on the wall. Minho, I- I mean, I left him there."

"You what?" Minho had stopped walking, and he blinked at Thomas, as if deciding whether or not he was telling the truth. "Why?"

Tiredly, Thomas explained. Minho seemed to be more and more surprised with every word he spoke. By the end, he was practically gaping at the child.

"But you're so small!" The twenty year old gasped in brazen astonishment. "How the hell did you manage it?"

"I-I don't know." Thomas muttered, his eyes filling with tears. It had been some sort of adrenaline- but that was all but gone, leaving in its place exhaustion. "C-can we go now?"

Minho seemed to blink slightly. "Damn it." He muttered, before meeting Thomas' eyes and grasping his hand tightly. "You did real good, ya know that?" He pulled the child towards him slightly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, kiddo."

* * *

**I hope you liked it, and I'm sorry if you didn't :-)**


	13. File 1: 13

Chapter 13

They stumbled into the glade around seven that morning.

They came through the door to a crowd, who just gaped at them. It was almost a tradition, to stand by the door when someone ended up locked into the maze for a night- but they never came back. No one ever thought they would.

Newt stepped forward, his expression a mixture of horror and amazement. Thomas met his eyes, and relief started to flood through him. He was… home. He'd never thought he'd ever call the glade that, but it felt like it. It felt like home, and he'd missed it.

Minho was talking, saying all about the maze, and the grievers and Alby. Newt started giving orders. You lot go find him. You lot go help Frypan make breakfast.

Thomas wasn't listening to much after that.

He let his gaze move to Alex, whose cheeks were tear-streaked. The sixteen year old hadn't even bothered to hide it, and then there was-

"Tay!" Thomas cried, tugging away from Minho's grasp, and stumbling to the ground almost immediately. Suddenly he was being cradled, and he buried his face into his sister's shoulder, trembling.

Teresa sobbed into her brother's hair. "I thought you were dead." She whispered. "I thought- I thought-"

"It's okay." Thomas mumbled, for only her to hear. "I'm okay, Teresa, I really am."

"No, you're not." The fourteen year old girl leaned back, placing her palm on his forehead worriedly. "You're sick, Tom."

"I know." Thomas mumbled, not even bothering to pick his aching head up. "I'm tired, Tay."

A large palm suddenly landed on his head, and Thomas jerked in terror. He spun around to see Newt kneeling down beside him, and the older glader spoke with a gentle tone. "Easy, Tommy." He soothed.

Thomas curled back into Teresa's embrace. He clung to her, trembling with fright.

"What's wrong with him?" He heard his sister's frantic voice as she desperately tried to calm him. "It's okay, it's okay.."

Newt spoke again. "I shocked him." He kept his voice low. "He's so high strung from everything, I'm not surprised he reacted like that. Teresa, the med-jacks need to look over him, can I….?" He trailed off.

"Okay." The girl nodded, detaching herself from her little brother. "Come on, Tom, you're sick."

Thomas just shook his head. "No." He whimpered. "Taya, don't-"

"I'll come." Teresa murmured. "I'll come with you Tom, but you've gotta let Newt carry you, yeah? You're exhausted." She stood. "You know what? I'll meet you guys there, okay?"

Thomas nodded, letting himself be lifted up. He slumped against the twenty year old, feeling nothing but tiredness. He wanted to sleep so much, but instead he leaned his head backwards to catch Newt's eyes. The older glader just gave him a soft smile. The relief in it was palpable.

"Newt," The twelve year old asked. "Are you angry?"

"Not right now, kiddo." Was the only reply, and then- "You scared me so, so much."

"I'm sorry." Thomas mumbled.

"You were so brave." Newt whispered. "You did real good, kiddo. We're-" He stopped as though considering something. "We'll have to figure something out though. You did break our number one rule."

"As punishment?"

"To stop you trying that again." Newt corrected. "Don't worry about it too much, yeah? Get some sleep. You need rest."

Thomas felt himself drift off. It wasn't sudden. His world slowly faded, and as he was laid down onto soft sheets, blackness took him.

* * *

Teresa sat beside Thomas, rubbing her eyes frantically. She'd barely gotten any sleep the night before, she'd been so scared. She'd been trying so hard to forget the image of her baby brother running full pelt towards the maze, but her stomach still clenched in anxiety.

"You should get some rest."

She turned her head towards the door, blinking at the boy standing there with something close to apathy. She then let her gaze fall the floor, and shook her head. "I can't." She whispered.

Alex walked over pulling another chair up next to Thomas' bed. "You need sleep." He explained, carefully. "You're gonna end up worse than him if you don't get some." He nodded towards the inert child beside them.

"I keep seeing him." Teresa whispered, tears beginning to collect in her eyes. "I keep just seeing him running and running, and then he just-"

"Vanishes." Alex finished, trailing his gaze towards the ceiling. "I know." It'd been the same for him, after all. "It was awful, but it's over, Teresa."

Teresa gave him a watery smile, and the older kid sighed, standing and pulling her up with him. He led her over to another bed in the room. "Tommy won't mind if you just sleep, you know."

Teresa winced, and Alex knew he'd hit the nail on the head.

"It's just… I promised him I'd stay, y'know?" She shook her head. "I'm honestly not that tired."

"I'll sit with him." Alex nudged her towards the bed. "And if he wakes up I'll wake you, honest."

"You promise?" The fourteen year old girl looked up at him, suddenly feeling very young.

Alex's lips quirked into a soft smile. "Sure." He said easily.

Teresa lay down, grinning to herself. Things finally looked as though maybe they were gonna be alright.

* * *

"Okay, okay! Put him down here!"

Newt, Zart and Gally hefted Alby onto a bed.

"Jeez." Gally huffed, wiping his brown. "Guy weighs a ton."

"Alex, prepare the serum!"

The sixteen year old nodded sharply, producing an injection needle containing a clear blue fluid. He tapped it twice to rid it of bubbles of air, before handing it to Jeff.

The older glader grimaced, pumping the liquid into his friend.

The screams didn't start immediately, but when they did boy, were they loud.

Newt swallowed, darting out of the room. He couldn't stand to see one of his oldest friends in such a state.

"We still need to hold a gathering."

Newt stiffened. "I'm aware of that Gally." He muttered.

"That kid ain't gonna get away with it, ya know."

Newt finally turned around. "What's your problem?" He all but shouted. "What the hell do you have against the kid."

"I've seen him Newt!" Gally snapped. "It ain't clear, but it ain't good! And then little Benny goes wild on him, right after the changing. Why aren't you listening to me?"

They glowered at each other.

"I get it." Newt muttered. "I get it, okay? Maybe- maybe something happened outside the glade, but bloody hell Gally, he's a child, twelve." He lowered his voice. "And this doesn't get out, okay? You don't tell anybody, but the kid has whip marks on his back. Whip marks from before the glade." He shook his head. "So maybe you're right. Maybe the kid was involved in something bad or whatever, but it _wasn't willingly_." The twenty year old sucked in a long breath.

Gally stared, mouth open. "Shuck." He breathed. "Jesus, Newt."

"Yeah." Newt leaned back, glaring at the other. "You just keep your trap shut, okay?"

Gally's scowl crept back onto his face. "Whatever." He snarled. "You're not the boss of me." He turned and stormed away, leaving Newt watching his retreating back.

Newt ran a hand through his hair. When did life get this complicated?


	14. File 1: 14

**Okay, so I reckon this is where the story is gonna take a turn. It's that little bit darker, and I'm pretty sure things will only get worse. They're all so traumatised. (Yes, I realise that's my fault.) Anyhow, I really hope you like it:-) please tell me what you think!**

**Also, kinda random, but I think this is my first chapter in a while without line breaks. For some strange reason I'm kinda proud of that :-)**

**On with the story!**

* * *

Chapter 14

He was roused by voices. They all seemed to be speaking at once, dragging him away from the blissful slumber. Flashes of memories darted beneath his eyelids, and he shrunk away from them, searching once again for the peaceful darkness.

Their words were urgent. He stumbled through his mind in terror. A labyrinth of thoughts and words. He was running, running through the twisted passages.

"Tommy." Someone was saying. "Tommy, _wake up._"

He didn't want to.

A razor, a thorn, a spine.

"Tommy." That same person. "Snap out of it."

A cliff, a feeling of falling into nothingness.

Then he was being shaken. "Tommy!" They called. They sounded like they were coming through the other end of a tunnel. "Wake up!"

Then he did. His eyes flew open, the daylight almost blinding him. "What happened?" He rasped.

Newt was kneeling beside him on the bed, his mouth twisted in something akin to great sadness.

"What- What have I done?" Thomas whispered, sudden fear rising up in him. "Newt- what-"

"Shh." Newt smoothed out his expression, looking suddenly a whole lot more comforting. "It's okay, kiddo. You just had a nightmare, that's all."

Thomas blinked. "No." His tone was loud. "It _wasn't _a nightmare." He swung his legs to the floor. He didn't say anything else- if he had, what would he have said? That he didn't want to come back? Didn't want to wake up?

His dreams were better than his life. At least they weren't real.

"I woke you," Newt spoke steadily, "Because Alby wants to speak to you."

Thomas bit his lip- he wasn't expecting that. "Oh." He mumbled. He rubbed his eyes, standing up. "I'm in my pyjamas." He voiced. "Does that matter?"

"No." Newt shook his head. "No, kiddo. Not right now." He smiled lightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Just put on your shoes okay? Then we'll go."

Thomas nodded, doing as he was told. He pulled the velcro tight, so his sneakers wouldn't fall off his feet, and then he gripped Newt's sleeve. He wanted to cry.

The older glader seemed to stop then, and scan Thomas' face. "You'll be alright." The twenty year old muttered. "You just stay inside the glade, and you'll be alright."

"Y-yeah." The twelve year old whispered. "Is- is Alby okay?"

Newt pulled Thomas with him outside. "He's coherent." Was his clipped reply. His voice was tense- worried. If Newt was worried then Thomas had good cause to be. They crossed the glade to the homestead- a large brick building.

"We've got a griever room- for when people get stung". Was what Newt had said a day or so earlier. "All these buildings were here when we go here kiddo. It's kind of strange- when Teresa got here, the last room was filled."

Thomas had nodded. He already knew. "The creators planned how many of us were coming up here." It was ominous, to say the least. Newt had just given him one of those indecipherable looks, and the matter was dropped.

Newt pushed open the door, leading Thomas up the stairs just down the hall. It was familiar. He'd seen Ben up there, he remembered, writhing in pain. He shivered slightly. The memory of the attack still frightened him.

"In here." Newt murmured, pushing open a door- that same door. "Listen kiddo." He spoke quietly, as if he didn't want the occupant of the room to hear him. "Anything happens, _anything_, you hear me? Anything happens and you come get me, okay?"

Thomas bit his lip. "Aren't you coming?" He whispered, eyes wide. Alby sort of scared him. The older glader was anything but friendly.

Newts mouth twisted slightly. "He doesn't want me to hear." He murmured. "But kiddo, you gotta tell me, okay? Afterwards- it could.. it could be vital, yeah?"

"O-okay." Thomas nodded. "Are you sure you can't come in?"

Newts face softened. "It'll be fine." He said. "I'll be out here the entire time."

"Okay." The twelve year old nodded again. "Okay." He stepped into the room. It was bare. The only thing there was a mattress on the floor. Thomas walked forward slowly as heard the door click shut.. "Alby?" He asked. "Alby, are you-"

"Come sit." The twenty-one year old tried to grin, though it looked more like a pained grimace than anything. "Come here." He patted the ground beside the mattress, and Thomas knelt down. The older glader's voice was croaky and harsh, and his eyes bloodshot, and Thomas just wanted to run away.

"I wanted to say thank you." Alby reached out, and Thomas let him grasp his arm. "You- in the maze you were brilliant kiddo, and I- thanks."

Something told Thomas that Alby wasn't one to say that often. "It's okay." He whispered. "Anyone would've done it."

Alby looked at him, unsure, "Maybe." He shook his head. "But we were the first to survive, you know, and it's thanks to you. You and Minho." He shook his head. "Now- now that's out of the way. I need to tell you- I remember you."

"What?" Thomas' eyes widened. "You mean-"

"From before the maze?" Alby answered. "Yeah. I don't know, it's not completely clear. I don't know, I just remember you, but-" He paused, as if trying to search for an answer. "You of all people, Thomas, after what happened with Ben and Gally swearing he remembers you." He shook his head. "I don't know kiddo, but I-" He suddenly jerked, and grimaced in pain.

"Alby?" Thomas gasped, as the older glader's eyes bulged. "Newt-!"

"No!" Alby gasped. "No, Thomas, not just yet, I still have to say-" He was cut off with a groan. "Just wait." He sucked in a breath. "I remember other stuff, Thomas." He was talking so quickly, barely allowing any time to breath. "Oh God, there's so much-" He stifled a shriek. "So much pain." He shook his head. "The flare Tommy, the flare, and- and it's awful!" He sobbed twice. "It's awful. We shouldn't go back. We shouldn't go back." His back arched and he screamed. His hands suddenly shot up, curling around his throat. The twenty-one year old started gasping and gasping for air, choked gurgling sounds rising up from his chest.

"Alby!" Thomas yelled. "What's happening? Alby, what-" He leapt backwards suddenly. "Newt!" He cried. "Newt, get in here!"

The door was flung open. Newt practically sprinted in. "Shuck!" He gasped, leaping over, tugging on Alby's hands. "Tommy! Go get help!" He was shouting, desperately wrestling with his older friend. "Alby!" He yelled. "Alby, you've gotta let go! Come on!" He turned his face towards the frozen twelve year old. "Go!" He practically screamed.

Thomas jumped, turning and fleeing. He ran down the stairs. Flinging open the door he started to sprint across the glade, faster and faster. His feet pounded on the ground. He had to get to Alex and Jeff- they'd know what to do, they- he tumbled into someone.

"Hold it." They snapped.

Thomas froze. He knew that voice. He glanced up, almost flinching when he saw who it was. The strange thing was, the hostility was all but gone, replaced by something almost akin to… concern?

Thomas realised he was crying. "Alby." He gasped. "He's trying to- to- Newt said to get help- I-"

And then Gally was grabbing his arm, tugging him towards the homestead, all the while muttering curse words under his breath. "Come on." He hissed. "Come on, kid. Run faster."

Gally let go of his arm once they reached the door, practically catapulting himself up the staircase. There was yelling, and crying and then-

Thomas curled up on the bottom step, trembling. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand any of it.

Alex told him not to run away again. That he'd just get hurt.

But it hurt to hear the screams- it hurt so bad it made him want to throw up. It hurt him to remember. It hurt to forget. It just bloody _hurt._

And it _terrified _him.

And so he ran for the third time.

And he sat at the base of a tree and just _wept._

_And it was heartbreaking._


	15. File 1: 15

Chapter 15

It was Teresa who found him.

"Tom." She wrapped her arms around his shaking form. "Tom, it's gonna be okay."

The child glanced up at her. "Alby." He whispered. "Is- is he-"

"He's alive." Her voice was soft. "He's alive, they got to him in time. He's gonna be alright."

"For sure?" Thomas looked up at the girl searchingly. "You're sure?"

"Well, I.." She floundered a little. "Thomas, Alex said nobody's the same after the changing."

"But he won't die." Thomas pressed. "You're sure of that?"

"Yeah." The fourteen year old buried her face in her little brother's hair. "Yeah, Tommy, I'm sure."

The twelve year old curled into his sister's embrace. It was okay now. He could breathe.

* * *

"He's a threat."

Newt's face was stony. "I'm sorry, Winston." He muttered. "But I really don't see your logic."

The younger glader just looked at him incredulously. "You saw what happened with- with Ben." He said. There was a collective wince at the name. "You _saw it._ It's not normal, Newt. He didn't just randomly attack Thomas. He- he wasn't that sort of person. He knew something- knew something from the changing." His tone was shaky."Just because he's a kid doesn't mean he's innocent."

Minho stood then, "With all respects," He scowled, looking like he'd rather not be giving any at all. "Being a kid _does_ mean he's innocent. You know, adults are far more likely to commit crimes than children are."

Winston shook his head. "Minho, he broke our number one rule."

"Yeah, well," Minho glanced at the twelve year old beside him. "Something tells me that someone who runs out into the maze to save a friend isn't exactly a mass murderer."

Thomas bit his lip. He'd like to think that was true, but, well… he couldn't be sure. He didn't remember anything from before the glade.

Newt shot him a look before he could voice anything, and Minho squeezed his shoulder. Thomas relaxed- they weren't going to let anything happen to him. He'd been frozen throughout the gathering, hardly knowing what to do, how to respond.

"And Gally said he remembered him from before." Winston shot Newt a glare. "I don't know _what_ you said to him to make him withdraw that statement, but he still said it- he spoke, and he told us nothing he remembered was good. The kid is a threat." His voice suddenly turned venomous. "He's probably hiding it from us."

Thomas flinched.

Minho's expression took on a murderous degree. "A threat to what?" The twenty year old snapped. "Shuck, Winston, you're acting like you're five. _Hiding it from us? _Really? I don't even get why we're having this shucking meeting."

"How do you know he isn't dangerous?" Winston glowered.

"How do you know he is?" Minho countered. "It's just you and your petty make-believe games. Why are you even on this council anyway? I thought it was for the _grown-ups._"

"Minho." Newt muttered softly.

The twenty year old raised his eyebrows at his friend. "Winston here wants to banish Thomas. That's what this is all about. He wants to banish a little kid into the maze- a kid who's probably just been scarred for life- because somebody told him that they've _seen him before._"

"That's not what I meant!" Winston shouted, frustrated. "You're not listening-"

"I'm not listening because what you're saying is absolute klunk! There's no way in hell that kid's going back into that maze. There's no shucking way you're locking him up in the slammer! He scared, and you're making it worse! He needs a shucking therapist, not a jail!" Minho was breathing heavily, his eyes full of rage. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. "It's not happening." He glared at each and every person in the room. "I won't let it."

Winston had backed away, and when he spoke his voice was higher. "That's not what I was saying!" He cried. "I told you, you're not listening to me. I'm on this council too, you know."

"I'm starting to question why." Someone who Thomas had yet to learn the name of, muttered.

It reassured him, to know that the majority was on his side, to know that Minho was fighting for him so fiercely. He was too frightened to really say much of anything, let alone defend himself. Newt had draped an arm around him when he'd sat down, and the twelve year old leaned into the older glader's side.

"Well, say what you want to say." Newt's tone was halfway between angry and annoyed. "We're all getting bloody tired."

"I think he should be put in the slammer." Winston raised his voice as a few of the others on the council started protesting. "Just for a bit, to make sure he learned his lesson. It's not fair if he gets away with it when others don't."

"That's what this is about?" Newt gently detached Thomas from his shoulder. "You think it's not fair? Seriously? All this because of that?"

"Well," Winston shifted uncomfortably. "You put _me_ in the slammer, when I went into the maze- and I didn't even go at night, so-"

"That's not it." Gally muttered, shaking his head. "Kid just tell the shucking truth."

Winston blinked at the older glader, his eyes suddenly surprisingly moist. "Benny died 'cause of that kid." He whispered. "He saw him in his dreams- he told me, and it's cause of him that-" He cut himself off. "He's a threat!" He suddenly cried. "He killed Benny, and he's gonna kill us too."

Thomas took in a shaky breath. He thought everyone was over this. He thought he was over it. The guilt slowly started creeping in again, and he fought the urge to be violently sick.

Minho sat beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault." He said, quietly. "It wasn't your fault, kiddo- I promise."

"This is ridiculous." Newt shook his head, though his voice was somewhat softer. "Really kid, all this because-" He took in a deep breath. "Let's just vote, alright? All those in favour of locking Thomas in the slammer?"

No one raised their hand. Winston just shook his head, looking a little lost.

"Right, meeting adjourned." Newt groaned. "Bloody hell." He sent an irritated glare towards the eighteen year old, who just stood there, his eyes never leaving the floor. "Winston." His voice was loud, but it didn't sound angry. "We've got to talk."

The kid- and he was a kid- slowly let his gaze drift up. "I'm really sorry." He sounded tearful. "I'm really sorry."

"I know." Newt's tone was level. "I just want to talk to you."

Winston nodded, and turned to leave. "I'm sorry." He muttered, once more, before practically sprinting out the room. Thomas watched him leave, feeling something worse than guilt well up inside of him. How could he do that to anyone? Winston was distraught. He suddenly wondered how many others he'd hurt. How many others had cried because of him? How many were still?

Newt turned to the twelve year old, his brow creased. "It wasn't your fault Tommy." He said, softly. "Wiston- he and Ben, they were best friends- real close. He took it hard, and now he's taking it out on you."

"But if I weren't here, it wouldn't have happened." Thomas mumbled, his lower lip trembling. "If I weren't here he'd be alive."

"You don't know that." Minho shook his head. "He could've flipped out at anyone, the state he was in. He was dangerous, kiddo. We're just glad we got to you in time."

Newt patted Thomas' shoulder before leaving, "I'll talk to Winston, you won't get any trouble from him." He had said.

It wasn't the trouble Thomas was worried about. He didn't care if he was in danger- not really. For all Newt and Minho tried, they really didn't get it. Nobody seemed to. They didn't understand what he was trying to tell them. It _was_ his fault. Why didn't anyone get that?

He didn't say anything though. He had to stop crying about every little thing. It didn't matter that he was a child. The creators didn't care. Life wasn't going to get easier just because he was younger- it didn't work like that.

He didn't really feel twelve anymore.

* * *

**I hope you like it- please tell me if you do. I'm all for constructive criticism, as long as it actually is constructive. :-) I'm sorry If my writing's not quite up to par for this one. To be honest, I'm a little nervous posting this. Something feels a little off to me, so please tell me if you like it or not.**


	16. File 1: 16

Chapter 16

"They haven't closed yet."

Newt started, "What?" He turned to face Alby.

"I _said_, they haven't closed yet. It's late, they should've closed ten minutes ago, Newt."

The younger man seemed almost frozen. "God." He whispered. "Do you think they-"

"I don't know." Alby shook his head. "I don't know." He stared at the doors. I don't think they will." His tone belied his fear. His voice shook slightly.

"Shuck." Newt almost snarled. "Minho!" He bellowed. The runner had come back from the maze just twenty minutes before. "Minho, get over here!"

The glader in question blinked, before sprinting. "What is it?" He muttered. "I'm kinda tired."

"The doors." Newt said softly. "Minho, look at them."

"What about them? What the hell are you-"

"They're _still open_."

* * *

Thomas was curled next to Newt. They'd told everyone to get inside, take cover. The child was fighting the urge to be sick. All he could think about were those creatures. He almost couldn't stand it.

Teresa was sat across from him, backed up into the wall. Her eyes were wide with some sort of abstract fear. Alex was beside her, his arm over her shoulders.

Thomas decided Alex was really nice.

The room was musty and smelly- there were about twenty five gladers in it, and around the same amount in the next. Newt had said that everyone should be close together, they they could all be protected.

Thomas wasn't so sure. They couldn't just stay here, wall themselves in. They'd be sitting ducks.

"If the doors aren't closing." Minho was saying. "The grievers will get in."

"Points for stating the obvious." Newt muttered.

"Well, we can't just sit here!" Minho exploded. "They'll kill us all!" He seemed to agree with the twelve year old.

"What are we supposed to do?" Newt looked exhausted. His face was washed out, with dark circles under his eyes, and his eyebrows had drawn together in a permanent from. "We can't do anything. There isn't a single safe place."

Thomas bit his lip. He was trembling, he knew, and yet he couldn't do anything to stop it. There was a sudden tension, a terror that resided in every one of them seemed to rise up, and he reached out to grip Newt's shirt sleeve, clinging to it.

The older glader said nothing, but he repositioned himself so Thomas could lean against him.

"The forest?" Minho asked.

"No." Newt said. "They'll smell us- the creators are watching us."

Thomas found that statement odd. Why _were_ they watching them? He'd wondered that countless times, asked so many questions and yet nobody ever really answered him. Nobody knew. Why would someone put them in the maze, just to watch them die? Who would do that, go to all this trouble just for… what? Assassination? Murder?

Punishment. His mind supplied.

"The slammer?" Minho asked.

Even Thomas knew that wasn't plausible

Nobody said anything, before Alby, who'd been silent up until that point, spoke. "There's nothing."

Newt gave him a sharp look.

"Go underground?" Minho asked.

Thomas sat up straight,with a sudden jolt of expectation "Can we?" He asked softly. "Can we dig underground? Barricade the door?"

Newt shook his head. "Not enough time." He said. "We've just a couple of hours till dark."

The hope was crushed.

"I told you." Alby whispered. "There's nothing. We've got nothing. Newt-"

The glader looked at him.

"There's no point."

Thomas scrubbed his hand over his face. A sickening feeling curdled his stomach. It was as though someone had dropped an iron bar down his throat. He was scared. Was Alby right?

His breathing quickened. A sudden sob shook his body, and then he was trembling- shaking.

"Tommy, calm down." Newt murmured, curling an arm around his shoulder. "You'll be okay."

"No point in lying to him."

"Shut up, Alby." Newt muttered. "Tommy, you'll be fine, understand?"

"Newt-"

"Alby, he's a shucking kid!"

"Not anymore!" Alby leapt to his feet, amidst cries of 'watch it!', and 'you're stepping on my _hands_!'. "None of us are, Newt! _Don't you get it? Don't you understand?" _He was breathing heavily, his brow sticky with perspiration. "That kid's not a little boy anymore, and the sooner you stop- stop _coddling_ him, the shucking better!" He was almost snarling, and he dragged Thomas to his feet. "Stop crying!"

Thomas sobbed harder.

"Stop crying, you little-"

And then Thomas was yanked from his grip.

"You idiot!" Minho shouted. "How could you- how could you be more wrong?" He pulled the twelve year old away, propelling him towards someone.

Tears were clouding his vision. Thomas couldn't tell who until they caught him. He clung tightly to his sister, burying his face into her shoulder.

"How could you?" Minho was shouting. "How could you ever think that was right?"

"I didn't." Alby whispered, and in a sudden second he looked eighty and world weary. "But- but just because it's not right, doesn't make it wrong."

"He shouldn't have to grow up that fast." Newt whispered. "We said- Jesus, Alby- you swore! We said- we said we'd shucking protect him!"

"Too late now." Alby bit out, harshly.

"Twelve's too young to be here." Newt said, staring at his friend imploringly. "You said-"

"It doesn't matter now." Alby said softly. "Look- I- I'm not good enough anymore, Newt. Can't- can't you be leader now? I just ain't right. Not up here." He tapped the side of his head. He looked like he was about to cry. "I _hurt him._ You should banish me."

Newt snorted. "Fat lot of good that'll do." He laughed bitterly. "The doors aren't closing."

"You're leader now." Alby gazed at the floor. "I resign."

Newt look stricken, but a look of understanding seemed to pass between them. "Okay." He said softly.

* * *

"No! Grab him!"

Thomas found himself leaping forward amidst everyone else.

"Help! Help me please!"

God, were the screams awful. Terror filled howls threatened to break the sky, and among the hoard of gladers, not one person gave up.

In a different circumstance, perhaps Thomas would have wondered about that.

But this was time of horror and absolution and endings, and the night dragged on, seeming to wish them nothing but destruction.

The griever. Why there was just one? Thomas could only guess, but the slime covered, metallic creature seemed to snarl, it's spines jutting out around its body like daggers.

He was hauled from the crowd, shoved away. The glader responsible just hissed at him to 'stay there!", before launching himself towards the griever.

The monster had one of them.

Thomas hadn't spoken to them directly, and at this point he was almost grateful for their lack of interaction. He didn't want to lose anyone else.

He was called Sam.

He'd been stolen into the maze by a demon.

And he was never coming back.

* * *

**So I know I haven't updated for very long, so I'm really sorry! I don't really have an excuse apart from exams, but they weren't very important ones. Still, I hope you like this chapter. :-)**


	17. File 1: 17

Chapter 17

Sometimes he'd look up at the sky, and wonder why they were there. He didn't believe in God- and he understood the concept perfectly well. He just didn't- couldn't see the reason for this pain. If God existed, he chose for them this suffering, and to Chuck?

Well, that was pretty much unforgivable.

He'd asked Thomas once- why did he believe?

Thomas had stared up at him in that terrible, adult way of his, and said, "If I didn't, I'd hate being here."

Thomas wasn't talking about the glade.

Neither was Chuck.

The fifteen year old started to cry, and when he started, he just couldn't stop.

He wanted this to stop so, so much.

"Chuck! Chuckie!"

He detested that name.

"Chuck!"

He drew his sleeve across his face in a lame attempt to hide his tears. He heard someone running, and jumped as a hesitant hand landed on his shoulder.

Minho was staring at him. "Chuck, are you- " He stopped. Emotions flitted across his face- concern, anguish, terror….anger- before he just glanced away, his fingers trembling. "Chuck, you're needed in the slaughter house." He said tightly, his gaze fixed firmly on the maze wall. "Please kiddo, they need you now."

Chuck blinked. "O-okay." He whispered, staring at the older glader in something akin to confusion. "Okay, I'll- I'll go."

He turned and walked away, with the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps he shouldn't have. It was unsettling.

Minho didn't want him there, anyway.

* * *

"Alex?"

The sixteen year old turned at the sound of his name.

"Alex? Alex, where are you? Are you here?"

"Yeah!" He called, his voice strangely muted. "Wait a minute, I'm gonna-" He made to move forward. Someone rushed though the reeds, and he jumped, for a moment panicked.

"There you are!" Teresa smiled at him. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Alex couldn't help but grin back. "You were, were you?"

"Yeah." Teresa replied, breathlessly. "I was."

Alex allowed himself to laugh, feeling an easiness sweep over him that he hadn't felt in months. He shook his head at the younger girl, turning away slightly to gaze at bright foliage in front of him.

He heard her presence as she walked up beside him. "It's strange, isn't it." She whispered. Her voice, though quiet, was even.

He turned to face her again. "What do you mean?" His question sounded odd, as though he already knew the answer himself.

Perhaps he did.

Teresa just smiled at him, and said nothing, reaching out and wrapping her small hand around his own.

The green hues contrasted deeply with the rough earthy browns, and the leafy vines curled around the thick bark as though claiming it for their own. Tiny flowers sprung from the forest floor in all shades of yellow and purple, and Alex understood.

Things weren't all bad.

* * *

"...Spend a night in the maze."

"What?" Newt stopped, suddenly focussing. "Minho?"

"We might as well try."

The twenty-one year old shuddered. "Minho, are you shucking insane? That's out of the question!""

"No!" The younger glader's face was awash with frustration. "No, Newt, that's not fair. Just think about it a second?"

Newt's expression twisted. "If you think I'm sending anyone into that maze again, you've got another thing coming. Did you forget what happened last time Minho? You nearly got killed, the kid nearly got killed, and Alby got stung. Shuck, man. It's bad enough already." He ran a hand through his hair. "I know it could help- but do you really want to put anyone through that?"

"We don't have a choice Newt." Minho's tone grew steadily more forceful. "People are dying now, you know that? Sam- that kid was one of my best runners. You think I liked seeing him killed? We have to stop this. Nobody else is allowed to die."

"They mightn't come back." Newt whispered, weakly. "We might be okay."

"You don't really think that."

"I have to." Newt's voice wobbled. "It's the only hope I have left."

"No!" Minho was wild, a fiery blaze, "Newt, _this is hope_! Fighting, trying! We can't _give up_. Not now. There's nothing left to lose- nothing except this- this….blanket you're determined to throw over us. You can't protect them, Newt. It's out of your control."

"And Thomas?...Teresa? Chuck?" Newt's voice grew hoarse. "They're just kids, Minho."

"Do you really believe that?" Minho asked, his voice softer.

"Of course." Newt was silent a moment. "Who will go with you, then?"

Minho smiled at the unspoken submission. "The med-jacks- not all of them, but we might need a couple. Only two of my runners have agreed."

"That's five." Newt noted. "Is that enough?"

"Nearly." Minho's expression turned grim. "Newt, you won't like this, but-"

"What?" The fear was palpable. "Minho, what are you-"

"Thomas is coming."

They stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact, until-

"No."

"Newt, I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Newt, that night in the maze the grievers left Tommy alone." Minho shook his head. "When they came back? It was like a challenge. They waited for him to make the first move. Since when do they ever do that?"

"But he's a child!" Newt yelled. "How can you possibly-"

"No he isn't!" Minho's tone took on an edge of fury. "And neither are Teresa or Chuck or Alex! And you have to stop degrading them that way Newt, because-

"No." Newt whispered. "How-" The world crumbled. "You agreed with me, Minho. Yesterday, you-"

"They're not kids, Newt." Minho muttered. "Not really. They've lost that now. It's too late." He raked his hand through his hair. "It's not fair to treat them that way anymore."

"Was it a different kid who was bawling the other night?" Newt asked. "He's shucking traumatised. Normal twelve-year-olds don't do that, Minho."

"He's not normal." Minho snapped. "And neither are we. Have you heard him at all, Newt? The way he speaks sometimes. It's- it's almost like he's been replaced by someone so much older. And then he goes and does something like that, and bounces off walls and off the backs of grievers, and lives. And then he breaks down. Does that sound like a kid to you? Or like an adult with too much to handle?" Minho held Newt's gaze, _because he had to understand._

"...Okay." Newt muttered.

"What?" Minho blinked. He hadn't expected that.

"I said okay." Newt's voice was tense. "But not yet."

"Newt…"

"Not yet." Newt finalised. "Give it a couple of days, Minho." He turned, heading towards the huts.

"You know, every day we wait, someone else dies." Minho shook his head. "Just think it over, Newt."

"Not yet Minho." Newt looked over his shoulder, and their eyes met. Newt's were wet. "Six people is a risk I'm not quite willing to take."

"So we're going to wait till we're desperate." It was a statement.

Newt didn't reply.

* * *

**So, I haven't updated in forever, and I'm really sorry! I got caught up with the end of term and holidays, and I just completely forgot.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked it, and please tell me what you think. :-)**


	18. File 1: 18

Chapter 18

Everything was changing.

Not that anything had been particularly constant, per say, but this was different. This was scary, and though Thomas knew even he wasn't exempt, he just wished everyone could be normal again.

Happy, oblivious normal.

Because there was nothing else left. The smiles had vanished from everyone's faces, and the mood was sombre. Death was in the air.

Sometimes, Thomas wished that it had been him- that they'd taken him, because sometimes, he just felt like everything was all his fault.

Maybe it was.

Because everything had started when he'd climbed out of that lift shaft- and after the maze, well…

Something shifted, that night. He and Minho burned down a concept practically sacred to the other gladers- you won't survive a night in the maze. Suddenly, it was like everything had come to life, because there was new hope, and new dreams, and the possibility of a new reality.

Except it had been a week since then, and four people were dead.

Four.

Their faces swirled like mist through his mind, and he fought the urge to vomit.

It was his fault. He looked at gladers, only to see deep despair. The desolation ran amok their faces, twisting them and contorting them, and Thomas knew that it was him.

False hope is perhaps the most devastating loss a person can suffer, and Thomas was the one who caused it. He was the one who broke them.

Perhaps it was Newt who scared him the most though. He'd changed irreparably- and Thomas wasn't the first to notice.

Newt was still there though, underneath the heaviness that seemed to be so deeply ingrained. The glade was a mess of destruction, but freedom would save him- it would save all of them. So Thomas had to agree. He had to say yes.

That was why he'd gone back into the maze- though he still had nightmares about that place. And that was why Thomas was now following Minho, running, somehow keeping pace with the eighteen year olds in full sprint beside him.

"Thomas!" Minho called behind him. "Come with me. We're taking the outer circle."

The other gladers took their leave, weaving through the layers of grey stone, and Minho then slowed his pace slightly for Thomas to keep up.

The twelve year old was breathing heavily, his dark curls damp with sweat, falling into his eyes and sticking to the nape of his neck.

Minho caught hold of his shoulder, bringing the both of them back to a walk, pressing his palm against the boy's forehead.

"Drink some water." He muttered, passing the child a bottle half full with the sweet liquid.

Thomas unscrewed the cap and gulped down about half of what was left. They walked in silence for a few moments, before he opened his mouth and started to speak; "What are we doing here, Minho?"

The older glader looked down at him. "You know why." He said clearly, "We're trying to find a way out." His eyes were soft, and Thomas wondered if he should even push this- if it was worth it to lose the affection of the moment.

There was a long pause, and then- "That's not _really_ true." He said, hesitantly, warring with himself. "You don't think there is one."

Minho bit his lip. His expression lost none of it's warmth, and Thomas wondered if he'd noticed his inner turmoil. The older glader seemed to flounder for a minute, before shaking his head. "I don't." He said, quietly. "I know there isn't one, but Thomas, the glade is falling apart. Everyone is, and I've had to watch it happen. And I know you have too, because I've seen the way you look at them, but damn it! I've known these people for years Tommy, and now I'm watching it all come crashing down!"

"Minho-"

"And I hate to give them false hope, but that's all that's left, and I just don't-"

"Minho please!" Thomas yelled. He seemed to choke on his own words, and salt water flooded his eyes. "Minho it's not false, I promise it's not, it's-"

"No Thomas." Minho was serious. "I hate to tell you, but it's there's no-"

"It's not false! It's not!"

They were facing each other, breathing heavily and completely unable to produce a fully formed sentence.

"Minho." Thomas said. "Why would they put us in a place like this without an exit? If they never mean for us to come out, why not kill us? Why do they give us pretty much everything we ask for in the lift, and why do they bother to feed us, clothe us?" He shook his head. "There has to be a way out Minho, it's impossible for there not to be! It defies logic."

The older glader pulled the boy closer, handing him a square of fabric to wipe his eyes with. He regarded the child with an expression of what seemed to be almost caution.

"Okay, Tommy." He soothed. "Okay Tommy, there is hope. I promise, okay?" He shook his head. "I shouldn't even have brought you out here. Newt was right."

Thomas laughed. It was cold, and even he shivered. "Can we just finish the outer circle?" He asked. "To look for a way out."

"Sure thing." Minho said, his hand not leaving Thomas' shoulder. "Lets go, yeah?"

Thomas could only nod.

* * *

Later that night, Chuck went to see Thomas. "Hey, Tommy." He smiled at the boy. He'd adopted Newt's nickname- as had everybody, because it suited the twelve year old.

"Chuck." Thomas looked up at him, grinning slightly.

"So, how was the maze of doom?"

Thomas crossed his arms. "The maze of doom?" He asked. "Really."

Chuck just giggled slightly. "Were you scared?" He asked, teasingly.

Thomas looked up at him then, all traces of humour gone from his face. "Yes." He said sharply. "Of course I was."

Chuck blinked at the child before shaking his head. "Don't be scared." He said softly. "Don't be scared, Tommy. You'll make it out of here."

"How do you know?" Thomas asked.

"You know how to survive." Was Chuck's response. "And how to be happy. Some people would kill to have that, you know."

"Chuck?" Thomas asked. "Chuck, what do you mean?"

Chuck laughed lightly. "I was just thinking out loud." He said. "Get some sleep- I'll be in at about eleven."

Thomas watched as he left the room.

And even though they barricaded the door, they still got someone.

He was called Simon.

* * *

**I'm sorry. I feel terrible about the length of time between updates. I'll try to get them up faster. Please tell me if you like the story and/ or give constructive criticism.**

**:-)**


	19. File 1: 19

**I just want to say that this chapter could be potentially triggering if you are suffering from a mental illness. With that said, I hope you like this chapter, and that you don't hate me too much after you've finished reading it.**

* * *

Chapter 19

Teresa wasn't all there.

At times she was okay- present. At times she was together.

But sometimes she fell apart.

She'd been so strong, she knew. She'd been strong against everything that had happened- losing her memories, waking in pitch black, her little brother running into the maze, the darkness swallowing him up, leaving behind nothing but dust in his wake, and-

No. She should stop.

There were cracks appearing though, in her guise of apparent happiness. The other gladers had noticed, perhaps even before she had.

Alex, especially.

She didn't know what to do with Alex. Sometimes he wanted to talk, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he'd laugh.

Other times he wouldn't.

Most of the time, Teresa wondered how many others hid behind masks. A great number, she imagined. The weight of what was happening to them finally bearing down upon them. No wonder, she thought, no wonder, after everything that's happened.

Newt always said, if you get lazy, you get sad, and then you give up. Teresa wondered if that was all it took, or if it was even less. Did you have to be lazy to be sad?

She didn't know.

Nethertheless, she couldn't shake the horrible, empty feeling. She was trapped, they were all trapped and it wasn't okay.

God, it wasn't okay.

"Teresa?"

She turned at the sound of his voice. How could she not? She was crying, but she didn't stop. Not for him.

"Teresa? Tee? Are you-"

"Alex, I'm okay." She was leaning against the stone walls, ivy tangled in her hair, curling into her eyes. Eyes which were wet.

"No, you're not." He said, critically, his mouth curved into a half-grimace. He didn't make any further move towards her, instead preferring to rock back on his heels, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

She laughed giddily. "Who is?" Her voice was rough, stained with tears and bitterness. "Who is anymore?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "You're being melodramatic Tee." He answered, but his tone belied his fear. "But you're as good as you're going to get. I get that- don't worry."

* * *

Gally wasn't an idiot. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't just some brute.

Maybe that was something the others understood. He wasn't elected keeper for nothing. He was one of the only ones who got anything done around the glade. He was a worker. He'd never be smart, but….

But he was useful.

Having a purpose meant something, even with the grievers, the threat of certain death if they ventured away from what had become their prison at night.

So at least he wasn't expendable.

"Hey." Someone was calling him.

"Winston." He greeted. He didn't say anything more.

"Gally, you alright?" Was the reply.

"Yeah." He answered gruffly. "Yeah, I'm good, thanks." He ran his hand through his hair. Was he? He didn't really know.

"I don't know, you seem a little distant. Anything on your mind recently?"

Okay, that was sarcasm at it's finest. "What do you want Winston?" He asked.

"I'm not letting anyone else die tonight Gally." The younger man snapped out, his eyes wide with what seemed to be fear. "I can't. I can't sit around while everyone is getting shucking torn apart!"

Gally's blood started to run cold. "I don't think you have any control over that, kiddo." He muttered, hoping against hope that this wasn't going where he thought it was going.

"I do. Sort of. Kind of. I could, you know..."

"What?"

"Only one dies a day, Gally, so-"

"Don't even think about it." He felt sick. What even was this? What the hell was he supposed to do?  
"But Gally-"

"No. Why are you even telling me this kid?"

Winston shook his head. "I'm scared." He murmured. "I'm so scared, Gally. I don't know what the shuck to do anymore. I can't-" The eighteen year old's voice cracked suddenly, and he stopped speaking altogether.

"That doesn't mean you go off yourself." Gally shook his head.

"But I can't take this any more!" Winston yelled. "I can't!" He buried his head in his arms, looking more pathetic than Gally had ever seen him. He let out a sob, and Gally just wanted to slap him.

"Welcome to the club!" Gally shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration. "You better man up, kid, 'cause it's going downhill from here."

* * *

"I want to show you something, Thomas."

Thomas jumped. Minho had appeared suddenly, as if from nowhere. "Show me what?" He asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

Minho chuckled- something of a rarity now- "Come with me." He spoke almost ominously, and Thomas snickered.

Minho's lips quirked at the sound, and Thomas had to wonder if that was the idea all along- to make the twelve year old laugh. It wasn't like anyone really did that anymore. The older glader sobered quickly. "I'm serious." He said, as if Thomas hadn't already worked that out. "Kiddo, please come."  
They walked in silence for a while, neither possessing the will to really speak. Short, concise phrases. That was all anyone said anymore.

The walked across the glade to the runner's hut. Minho ignored Thomas' curiosity in favour of opening the door and gesturing for him to enter.

Thomas' eyes were wide. There was table in the middle of the room, littered with sheets and sheets of file paper. The were spilling over the edges and onto the floor. It looked a little like somebody had been looking through them. Searching for something. "What happened in here?" He whispered.

"I don't know." Minho said, eyes solemn. "I found it like this when I woke up before I went running Tommy, someone came in here last night, looking for something."

"Did they find it?" Thomas asked turning to face the twenty year old. "And- and why are you showing me?"

"I wondered if it was you." Minho admitted. "You've been awfully vague as of late. Ever since you had that talk with Alby. I thought he might've remembered something, you know. Told you, I guess, but you're clearly innocent, so…" He shook his head, walking over to the mess strawn over the table. He started sorting them into piles. "I don't know if they found it. I don't know what they took."

"Minho-" Thomas was hesitant. "Minho, what even is this place?"

"The map room." Was the reply. "We map the maze. Come over here, Tommy."

Thomas moved to stand next to the older glader. Minho was holding a thin pile of paper in his hands.

"You see these markings?" The twenty year old asked.

Thomas nodded. The strange lines that curved across from corner to corner were prominent, as if someone had, with a pencil, drawn over them many times.

"These are parts of the maze."  
Thomas' head snapped up. "What?" He asked.

"Why do you think we run the maze, Tommy? We're looking for a way out. We're always memorising. Always trying to remember the routes." Minho shook his head. "I don't- I don't suppose you can make head or tail of this, kid?" He spoke hesitantly, even doubtfully. He passed the papers over.

Thomas leafed through them. "Why so many? He asked. "Why? Couldn't you just draw one, and-"

"The maze changes." Minho said. "There's a pattern, but still, it's never the same the next day." He shook his head. "There's no way out Thomas. I'm sorry." He spoke as if he was grieving. "So we'll be picked off one by one by the grievers." His eyes were damp as he looked at Thomas. "All my friends Tommy. They're going to die because I couldn't figure it out."

Thomas couldn't answer that.

"What'll we do?" Minho asked. "What do we do, Thomas? Newt won't believe me. He refuses to." He choked slightly. "Shuck Tommy." He whispered.

Newt.

"We'll be okay." Thomas said, His voice ringing out oddly certain.

'We need your memories.'

Maybe that was it.

* * *

"I'm cold." He whispered.

He wasn't talking to anyone. Nobody but himself.

But that made sense because he was crazy.

"I'm so cold." He said again, and then he shivered.

He couldn't cry- he could barely breathe, but still he continued on his path. He walked towards the maze wall.

In the end, he couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough.

In the end- and it was the end that mattered- he couldn't do it anymore.

Because he was numb. Devastatingly numb. He was numb and cold, and trapped in an endless cycle of regret. What he regretted, he didn't know. He'd had his memory wiped, after all.

He knew it wasn't anything good.

He was trapped. He couldn't get out.

He couldn't get out.

He was trapped.

"Help me!" He was screaming. Inside his head, because his mouth couldn't formulate the words.

He was trapped.

He gripped the ivy between his fist, using it as leverage to heave himself up. He wasn't as heavy as before, so it was easy. He'd been too tired to eat.

He'd been so tired. So tired for so long.

So then he was on top.

He was scared. But that was okay, because if he was ever going to brave, it was in this moment.

He shivered again. He was still cold. It was like his bones were frozen. It was like his blood was ice.

He stood atop the stone wall, gazing across the glade. His eyes swept across the woods, the huts. The green fields, the gardens.

The graveyard.

"I'm sorry." He sobbed, though there was no one to hear him. "I'm so sorry."

He choked on his tears. "Help me." He whispered.

Nobody did, though. So Chuck jumped.

He felt nothing more.

* * *

"Thomas!"

The twelve year old turned at the sound of Newt's voice.

"Tommy?" The older glader came forward. "Tommy, I need to tell you something." His eyes shifted nervously, and he clenched his fists.

"What?" Suddenly Thomas was fearful, because among the emotions in Newt's expression swam grief.

Grief was never good.

"Thomas, I need you to be really grown up," Newt whispered, as he came down to the twelve year old's level. "I need you to be brave."

"What's happened Newt?" He suddenly felt so much younger again. So terrified.

The older glader just shook his head then, his face crumpling. "Oh God, Tommy." He sobbed, pulling the boy into a hug, clinging tightly to him. "Oh God, Oh God." He cried, his large frame shaking,

"Please, Newt." Thomas whispered, shaking him slightly. "Please tell me." He was scared. He was so, so scared.

Newt's cries tapered off, and he seemed to get a handle on himself, as he lifted his head from the younger's shoulder. "Listen." He said softly. "Jacob and Moses found him. They were doing their usual patrol's, you know. And- and-" He swallowed. "I'm so sorry, Tommy. They found Chuck's body."

Thomas stared at him. "They... what?" He croaked, his mouth suddenly dry. "Newt, I-"

"I'm sorry." Newt said again, his arms around the younger glader. "It's gonna be okay, It's gonna be-"

"No." Thomas shook his head. Newt didn't get to say that. Not this time.

Then it hit him.

And the child screamed.

* * *

**I can't believe I just wrote that. What did I just do? Oh. My. God.**

**I'm sorry.**


End file.
